


Dream Masks

by HeroMaggie



Series: Dreams [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU in the worst and best way possible, Anders in a corset - continues, Definitely smut in Orlais, Fade Finger Fondling, Fenris and Isabela form the Jealous Duo, Fenris truly hates poofy shirts, Fluffy happy funny stuff, He also hates ruffs and anything covered in lace, Healer Fluffy Buns, M/M, Orlesian fuckery and other fun times, Romance, Smut...more smut...and perhaps some outdoors smut, Tallis stop flirting with Anders, Tallis stop flirting with Hawke, Varric is writing a very detailed novel about all of this, Yes yes moving locations around for shopping trips happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes. I had received an invitation to an Orlesian hunt. I hadn't thought much about it, I don't hunt and I dislike Orlais...Ferelden and all.” Hawke pulled out the invitation – a gilt strewn, silk covered horror done in purples and gold. “At any rate, there was a rather predictable ambush and an elf helped us out of the jam. Then introduced herself as Tallis and asked if I wanted in on a jewel heist.”</p>
<p>Never one to let an opportunity slip past her, Hawke talks her friends into joining her at a hunt in Orlais. Little do they realize that the "jewel heist" will involve Orlesian shenanigans, an overly familiar and flirty elf, and ruffles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What is this? A part two to Fevered Dreams? Why yes...YES IT IS!
> 
> MORE Anders in a corset!
> 
> Now with a chance of Fenris in poofy shirts.
> 
> The guys continue their romance - while shaking down trouble in Orlais. Fashion, despair ham, and masks ahead.

The sound of splintering wood and cat yowls filtered down the hallway and was followed by a series of smaller crashes, a loud “my toe!” and what sounded like hopping. Fenris put down the book he was working through and stood, let out a long-suffering sigh, and followed the guttural cursing now bouncing around the mansion.

The hall outside of his room was clean and devoid of all mummified corpses, the floor a long line of slippery polished wood – a clear example of the hard work his mage did when left alone and told he could clean. Fenris kept meaning to tell Anders to purchase a rug as his feet stayed cold on the bare wood and slid over the smooth surface. Moving with care, he stopped at a door two rooms down from their shared bedroom and peeked in.

Dust and plaster filled the air. A large wardrobe was tipped over, shelving and drawers smashed under the bulk. Bun sat on top of the broken furniture looking highly insulted. Anders, dust and plaster covering his slightly-stained robe, was busy holding his foot up to his face, a look of concentration causing him to scrunch his nose. There was a shiver of magic and then the mage let out a relieved sigh. 

“Not broken any more!” He crowed before bustling over to scoop up the cat, “Bun! Are you ok? You look ok. Let me check you…” There was another shiver of magic, the cat letting out a mrrp of pleasure. “You’re fine. Oh sweetheart I was so scared for you!”

“What happened?” The words accompanied a very put-upon sigh, Fenris trying his hardest to not drag Anders out of the mess.

“Oh! Fenris…did I bother you?” There were puppy-dog eyes from the mage AND the cat. “Because we were just trying to rearrange the room. Right Bun? Make it more comfortable?”

“You made it more broken,” Fenris said, giving in to the urge to shake his head. “Did you break your toe?”

“What? No…well yes but healer. Haha…stop looking at me like that.” Anders backed up a bit and held out Bun. “Bun’s fine!”

“Mage…” there was long-suffering patience bundled up in that one word. “What are you doing?”

“Well I finally got all the corpses handled and thought I’d redecorate? This would make a great work room for me…we could finally move my books!” Anders put Bun down and moved to the desk, showing Fenris how he had set up a small work area. “See? I looked at the other two rooms and I'm going to need to fumigate one and the other is too big. This one, though, it had a desk and this nice window...with good light...and it's a nice size...” Anders waved at the dust-filled space.

“I see,” Fenris did see. “And the wardrobe?”

“I thought I could pull it away from the wall and then shove it...but I forgot to latch the doors and when I pulled it became unbalanced and fell...” Anders shuffled a bit. “And before you say anything, yes I should have gotten you.”

“Fool mage, come here,” Fenris groused, “Creating messes, causing me to worry.” Fenris slid fingers into blond hair and pulled Anders’ face down to his. The mage offered his elf a bright smile. 

“Will you kiss it and make it better?” The puppy eyes intensified, making Fenris’ lip twitch up into a small smile. “Please?”

“Impossible mage,” the elf muttered a second before claiming Anders’ lips in a gentle kiss. 

Anders had just been pressed against the wall, a thigh shoved between his legs, when the front door to the mansion opened and a “Hello?” echoed up the stairs. Anders slammed his head against the wall and tried to stop rutting against the firm muscles pressed to his erection. Fenris, for his part, took the opportunity to bite down on the mage's now-exposed neck, sucking lightly. Maybe if they pretended to be unavailable, whoever was downstairs would just go away.

“Fenris? Anders? It's Hawke and Isabela...Izzy, put that down!” The sounds of scuffling floated up the stairs, Isabela's laughter combining with Hawke's cursing. Fenris and Anders shared a look, sighing as one. Chances were good they would go downstairs to find Isabela wrapped around and doing highly inappropriate and acrobatic things to her Hawke. It had happened before. The last time they visited Anders had found Hawke nearly divested of her robes.

Anders had been deeply grateful Fenris had not been home for that one. The elf was not known for his patience.

Fenris stepped back, growling slightly and dragging a nail over Anders' scruff. “As soon as they leave I want you on the bed, naked, and on your stomach.” The possessive gleam in Fenris' eye combined with the commands made Anders quiver, anticipation and pleasure spiking in his gut.

“Yes...bed...naked...stomach. Got it. Yes. I can't go downstairs like this. I'm not wearing smalls and my robe...” Anders flushed as Fenris admired his mage's erection clearly visible under the draping cloth. “Andraste's nipples, stop staring at it.”

“Maybe you should go get on the bed now, and I will force them to leave. You can prepare yourself while I speak to our friends.” Fenris stepped a little further back, a full smile appearing on his face. “Yes, I like that idea more. Knowing you are up here aroused, writhing, and waiting will add a sense of urgency to my voice.” 

“It'll result in Isabela running up the stairs to see if I'm wearing lingerie,” Anders groused. 

The growl from Fenris was low and possessive, “You are mine. She is not to look at you. Nobody is to touch you.”

“Well then...the fear of you harming Isabela caused the entire problem to go away. Come on, Fen. Let's just talk to them and get it over with,” Anders stepped closer to the elf and bent down, nibbling at one ear. “Please? I swear, I'm yours. Not even interested in anybody else. Just calm down. I'm sure Hawke has a very good reason for barging in.”

“Fine. I wish they would knock like normal people. It's not the visits, it's the entire unlocking of the front door.” Fenris groused, trying to stomp from the room and ending up sort of gliding over the slick floors. “And stop waxing the floors. I slide now when I walk. It is undignified.”

“Well I'm sorry. I had writer's block and the scrubbing helped,” Anders rubbed a spot from the railing. “Looks so much better without Frank and Stephen up here. Smells better too. You should see the kitchen now. We can actually stock the pantry.”

Fenris just rolled his eyes and headed to the stairs, calling down to their friends, “We are on our way, Hawke. Please do not allow Isabela to damage the foyer.”

“Yes. I just scrubbed,” Anders tromped down the stairs behind Fenris. “Isabela, don't sit on the furniture. I know you aren't wearing pants. You're going to leave streaks.”

“Handsome, I won't hurt the table by sitting on it,” Isabela purred, leaning back and swinging her legs. She let her eyes travel down Anders' length before hopping down and going to him. “You look good. Really good. Even covered in the dust and plaster. I'm glad to see you're finally eating properly. These last few months have put much needed weight on you. And I approve.”

“Oh well...Fenris fusses if I don't eat...” Anders flushed as Isabela carded her fingers through his hair. “Izzy...” he glanced over at Fenris, noting the frown forming on his elf's lips. 

“Just admiring you, handsome. Calm down.” She cupped his cheek and sighed, “Can't a girl get a little affectionate with a long-time friend?”

“It depends on your definition of affection and if you wish to keep your hands,” Fenris growled, glaring at the fingers touching his mage. Much to his chagrin, Isabela simply laughed.

“Oh Broody, your mage adores you too much to want anything I might offer. Though I still have fond memories of his electricity trick. He has tried it on you, yes?” Isabela grinned when Anders blushed harder, pinching an earlobe and tugging lightly. “If not, it's a shame. That trick is...mm...delicious.”

“Izzy love, we aren't here to flirt,” Hawke wrapped an arm around her lover's waist and squeezed. “Unless you wish to flirt with me...”

“Mmm sweet thing. Always.” She let herself be distracted, leaning against Hawke with an indecent purr. 

“Why are you here?” Anders glanced at Fenris, checking to make sure no violence was about to happen. Fenris offered him a slight smile, the smile gentling when Anders relaxed. “Is there a problem?”

'I don't know if I'd qualify this as a problem so much as a...complication,” Hawke started. “You see...the other night I met with an interesting individual.”

“You could say that again,” Isabela muttered, more to herself. At Hawke's exasperated look, she quieted. “Sorry, sweet thing, continue.”

“Yes. You see, I've received an invitation to an Orlesian hunt. I hadn't thought much about it, I don't hunt and I dislike Orlais...Ferelden and all.” Hawke pulled out the invitation – a gilt strewn, silk covered horror done in purples and gold. “At any rate, I got a note to meet a person needing help. Of course, there was a rather predictable ambush and an elf helped us out of the jam. Then introduced herself as Tallis and asked if I wanted in on a jewel heist. Turns out this hunt is put on by a wealthy Duke and he has a jewel that he shouldn't have. Tallis found out I had an invitation and came to see me. The Crows who ambushed us were just an added bonus...I guess.”

Fenris had crossed his arms over his chest and was giving Hawke a look best described as “Only you, Hawke.”

“I know...” Hawke said, correctly interpreting the look. “Anyway, how would you two like to come with me and Isabela and Varric to Orlais to hunt...things...and stay at a chateau and steal some fancy gems? How bad could it be?”

“It's in Orlais; that alone makes it terrible.” Anders said, “Add in the jewel heist and you're talking a truly terribly time. But if you need our help…”

“Hmm…” Fenris didn’t seem convinced, “With a jewel heist? Neither of us are burglars. We're better suited to bandits and slavers.” A look at Anders and he added, “And templars.” Anders beamed at him. 

“Come on, Fenris. We go and annoy some Orlesian nobles, drink their wine, and come home. Piece of cake. And I’ll fund the clothing and the entire trip.” Hawke offered a beaming smile to both men.

“He’ll do it too,” Anders said before Fenris could open his mouth. “I’ve wanted to see him in something other than black for a while now. This will be the perfect opportunity!”

“Mage…” Fenris growled.

“Please?” Anders pulled the puppy eyes back out, making Isabela chuckle. “Come on Fen. A vacation! Think of it as a vacation. I’ve never had one. Have you? We can dress up fancy, eat ham, do terribly naughty things to each other in some nobleman's garden...”

“Venhedis, stop making that face.I will go. But I will not wear anything ridiculous. And we will not be having sex in some Orlesian garden.” Fenris sighed as Anders tried to hug him, “Mage, we have company. Stop pawing.”

“Mm…continue pawing.” Isabela leaned back against the table she had been sitting on and waggled her eyebrows. “In fact, why not go full fondling?”

“We’ll be going,” Hawke interjected, nabbing Isabela’s arm. “I’ll talk to a tailor and let you know when you should come over for fittings.”

“I shall handle Anders’ clothing,” Fenris muttered, reaching up to nab his excited mage by the back of his torque, tugging gently to get his attention. Anders flushed and settled, twisting his hands in his disheveled robe.

“I'd really like a few more of those robes you got me. The ones with the cinched top?” There was a distinct wheedling tone to the question. “The ones you like on me? We could get some masks...they would be amazing at a social engagement.”

“Oh Maker, we are leaving now. Come on Izzy love. Let’s leave the boys to discuss this…alone.” Hawke shoved Isabela out the door, offering Fenris a smile. “I’ll let you know when to come by for fittings.” And on that, she quickly slammed the door shut behind her.

Anders was nearly vibrating with excitement, much to Fenris’ amusement. “We will talk to Fran, yes. Now I believe you are to go upstairs and undress…” He watched as Anders pulled away, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. The mage sauntered to the stairs, throwing a heated wink over his shoulder, before pulling up his robes and running – long legs and ass on display.

That mage, he thought fondly, was going to be the death of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is a floofy shirt.
> 
> Does anything else really need to be said about this chapter?

“And we’re going to bring Bun. I just don’t think it would be right to leave her alone for so long,” Anders inhaled, entire body jittering with excitement. Varric shook his head and pushed another mug of cider at the mage.

“Blondie, breathe. You’re wearing me out just looking at you,” Varric watched with amusement as Anders tried to calm down. Maker, but it was good to see the mage happy. That month where Fenris had been walking around with his head up his arse had been hard on his friend. If Isabela hadn’t pushed the issue, Varric would have. Only the pushing would have been administered via Bianca. Varric never wanted to see Anders that malnourished and suffering again. The excitement was a welcome change, and one Varric was willing to deal with.

“I think Fen is going to let me order some new clothes, too. I went by to talk to Fran and she gave me some fabric samples. Want to see them?” Big golden-brown eyes met Varric’s and the dwarf fought to not laugh at how hopeful the mage looked. Really, the man could do puppy eyes almost better than Broody – and Varric had watched Fenris shoot puppy eyes at the mage since they moved in together.

“Sure Blondie. I don’t know much about human fashion but I’m willing to take a look. Speaking of Broody, where is he?” Varric fingered one of the little squares of cloth – a deep garnet silk that shimmered sinfully against the wood of his table. “I like this one.”

“Oh. He’s at Hawke’s. For a fitting. I wanted to go but he told me he could handle it himself. And yes, that one is one of my favorites. And this one,” The mage showed a square of copper fabric to Varric.

“Now are these for actual robes or are we talking about one of those special robes that Fenris bought for you?” The thought of the corset-cinched robe had Varric shifting slightly. He wasn’t one for humans…male or female…but something about seeing Anders in that get up had made him mighty thirsty. Fenris had glared daggers at the entire group the night Anders wore it to wicked grace.

Odd that he hadn’t seen the mage back in the rather memorable outfit since.

“Ah…Fen gets touchy about me wearing them in public. I’m working on it. I think my robes would be perfect for an Orlesian party. With a mask…yes?” Anders was ignoring the flush on Varric's face in favor of talking about fashion. He didn't want to even think about Varric get flushed over his robes. “I might trim my hair too...but that's up for debate.”

Varric was wondering if Orlais was ready for Anders in a corseted robe. He’d be the talk of the party. They’d need to bring guards.

“Blondie, I think you’re going to cause quite the scene in Orlais,” Varric finally settled on that, taking a drink of his ale.

Anders just laughed and petted at the squares of fabric. “I don’t know about that. I just…Varric. For once in my life I feel good. Happy. It scares me.” His face sobered, eyes growing melancholy. “Do I even deserve this?”

“Blondie, you sit down in the sewers healing people for free until you pass out. And when Hawke shows up you happily go tromping off with her. You’ve taken on bandits, blood mages, and darkspawn all because she asked. Not to mention Broody…a topic I will not touch. You deserve to be happy. Just…do me a favor and enjoy it. Alright?” Varric leaned back in his chair, drinking deeply from his ale.

“Well…alright. I’ll try.” Anders sipped at his cider. “I think I’d best check on Fen. I worry that he might be a little volatile. He doesn’t handle change well.”

“Broody doesn’t handle change at all,” Varric watched Anders stand and stretch. “Come by tomorrow and tell me what you’re going to do about the clothes.”

Anders’ gave Varric a wide grin, “Yeah Varric. I will. Thanks for the cider.”

“Any time Blondie,” the dwarf watched as Anders waved and left. He wondered if he should finish up his ale and follow – seeing Broody getting measured for fancy Orlesian clothing might just be worth the effort walking to Hightown.

***

  
“Please Ser, just stand still. It won’t be much longer…” the young woman fretted at Fenris. The fretting was possibly due to the low-level unhappy noises being emitted – mainly in the form of growling. Or it was because every time she attempted to measure his inseam, Fenris smacked at her hands. The unhappy elf stood on a low wooden box in the middle of Hawke's bedroom, fussy woman circling him like a small moon orbiting a planet.

“Hawke, I am not wearing this.” Fenris looked like he had sucked on a lemon, his face set in a scowl.

Hawke tilted her head and tried, hard, to not laugh. “Awww…come on Fenris. You look amazing.”

The amazing outfit consisted of incredibly tight grey breeches into which the tailor had tucked the poofiest, fussiest shirt Fenris had ever seen. Never mind that it was in a pale lilac with deeper purple trim, never mind that it was made out of silk, or that it possessed a high fitted collar and lace on the sleeves. It was the fact that it was on him that made it so abhorrent. The silk tickled. The lace itched. The breeches were slowly crawling into crevices no fabric should ever venture. To add insult to injury, a ruff had just been pulled out. Also in lilac.

The ruff never had a chance. Fenris activated his tattoos, grabbed the offending neckwear, and pulled it apart. Shredding the disgustingly froofy ruff was so satisfying that he grabbed the monstrously poofy shirt next and shredded it, much to the horror of the Orlesian tailor who began gibbering dramatically.

Anders walked into the room just in time to see lilac silk flutter down around his lover's impressive chest. He came to a stop, laughter bubbling up, "That's a first. Usually it's my clothing that ends up shredded."

"Fasta vass, I shall not wear any of this. No lace. No poofy anything. And these breeches are riding up." Fenris tugged at the pants with a growl. His tattoos flashed again as he tried to grip the skin-tight fabric.

"Those pants are amazing and you should keep them," Anders said, rushing forward to grab at glowing lyrium-lined hands. "They, ah...do things. To you."

Fenris gazed into the eyes of his lover and tilted his head, "What kind of things?"

Anders bent forward and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin of Fenris' ear, "amazing things. To your ass."

That made Fenris stop. He had never worn clothing for his mage. He always had his mage wear clothing for him. The mental image of Anders naked and panting while watching Fenris stride around the room in the uncomfortable yet supposedly sexy breeches was pretty tempting. "I shall keep the breeches, but not to wear to Orlais."

"Ser...you...the shirt..." The tailor was gripping his neck and turning bright red, tears dripping down his face. "That silk was imported! That ruff was one of a limited number."

Anders stepped over to the apoplectic man. "Can we talk?" He took the man's arm and steered him across the room, Hawke fluttering after the two of them.

Fenris watched as Anders started gesturing while speaking in a quiet tone of voice, Hawke nodding helpfully as his mage talked. A deep chuckle from the door had him turning and meeting Varric's very amused eyes. “Do not even start, dwarf.”

“What happened in here? It looks like I missed all the fun.” Varric pondered the lilac silk scattered around Fenris, an evil gleam sparking in his eyes, “I love the color choice.”

“Dwarf...” Fenris growled.

“Calm down there, Broody. I just wanted to make sure Blondie made it here ok. And try to see you all dressed up.” Varric held up his hands in surrender before entering the room fully. “We were having a drink together before he came rushing over to check on you.”

The thought of Anders rushing to make sure he was fine made Fenris' ears heat. “I see.”

Varric tapped his chin, “We were discussing those corset robe things you had made for him. Blondie would really like a few to wear to Orlais.”

“And you are what, asking for him?” Fenris stepped down off of the small box and started looking for his clothing. “I am sure my mage is perfectly capable of wheedling those robes out of me himself.”

“You're mage, huh?” Varric's eyebrows were raised.

“Fasta Vass...” Fenris muttered. “Yes, my mage. As in Mine. Not yours or anybody elses.”

“That's sweet, Broody. Just remember it this time when the going gets hard.” Varric watched Fenris open his mouth and he shook his head, “I let Isabela handle you the last time. It happens again and it'll be Bianca handling it. Permanently.”

Fenris stepped in close to the dwarf and leaned down, glancing at Anders before whispering harshly to Varric, “Never threaten me, dwarf. I would sooner cut off my sword arm than hurt him again. I made a promise to him, and I will not break it.”

Varric held Fenris' gaze before nodding, “Good. Because the next time it happens there won't be a threat. I'll handle it.”

“Varric! When did you get here?” Hawke had reappeared, her eyes sliding between the two bristling men. “And isn't it incredibly tense on this side of the room?”

“Just having a heart-to-heart with Broody,” Varric said smoothly. “Tell me you weren't trying to dress him in silks, Hawke.”

“I had to try once. I think Anders is sorting everything out.” Hawke turned apologetic eyes on Fenris. “Maybe come back in a couple days?”

“I shall find my own clothing, Hawke. And I shall not wear silks. I am not a kept man.” Fenris groused, but only for show. His eyes traveled back across the room to watch Anders clap the tailor on his back. “But if Anders wishes me in silks, I suppose I could bend a little. I shall wear the breeches home. Where is my tunic?”

“I left your clothing on the chair behind the changing screen,” Hawke gestured. Fenris gave a snort and turned, stalking across the room. Hawke had to admit, Anders was right. Those breeches did interesting things to Fenris' ass.

“He called Anders 'his mage,'” Varric murmured to Hawke, pulling her out of her Fenris-ass musings.

Hawke gave the dwarf a wide smile, “Yes well, Anders calls him 'his elf,” so I suppose it's only fitting. They love each other, though I don't think they're ready to admit it.”

“You sure about bringing them to Orlais? They can both be a little volatile.” Varric watched Fenris curl a hand around the back of Anders' neck and squeeze, the mage blushing red and growing flustered. “plus, they're like some damn newlyweds. It's worse than watching you and Isabela.”

“Mm, they're exactly what we need. Now Varric, we should talk about your clothing,” Hawke said, turning a wheedling smile on her best friend.

“Not on your life, Hawke. Nobody dresses up this dwarf,” Varric said, huffing as Hawke burst into laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations between Fenris and Anders...
> 
> And then smut happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to Penbrydd for the entire idea of Fade Finger Fondling.

Hightown was bustling as Fenris and Anders walked home, the pretty Fall weather pulling most people outside for shopping and promenade walking. The trip home didn’t take long, even with the crowds. Still, worries crowded Anders’ mind. It had been fairly apparent that something had happened between Varric and Fenris – that something occurring when he had been soothing the tailor. He very much worried that he knew what had happened and why.

“I saw you talking to Varric,” Anders slid his hand into Fenris' and entwined their fingers. It helped to quiet the nearly insatiable urge to fidget and fuss. He kept the question neutral, not wanting to rile his lover nor let the elf know just how worried he really was.

Fenris, for his part, squeezed his mage's fingers and let out an unintelligible grumble. “We were just talking.”

“About?” The mansion loomed before them, the outside a mess of dead plants and dirty stone. One day, Anders thought, he'd clean the windows and plant new plants. But only after talking to Varric. Anders didn’t want to put Fenris is a tight spot with the city. No sense in creating extra drama in their already drama-filled lives.

Fenris glanced over at the mage, not really wanting to get into the entire discussion again. Still, he had promised Anders no more running and part of him knew that not being honest would constitute a mental jog away from their still budding relationship.

“We were discussing you.” The words were pained. “Varric was just...warning me...”

“Not his place,” Anders muttered. “I'll talk to him.”

“No, he is correct to threaten me. Should I hurt you again like I did...” both men grew quiet at the remembered month spent apart, Fenris' chest tightening at the mental image of Anders wasted and delirious and allowing his spirit free reign. He wouldn't do that again to the mage. No.

“Fen...” Anders' voice was soggy, emotions tangled, “I forgave you.”

“And if I have not forgiven myself? Mage, we will not discuss it.” Fenris unlocked and pushed open the front door, guiding Anders inside. “I do not wish to upset you more. It is enough to say I made a promise and will not break it again.”

Trying to keep Fenris from seeing, the mage wiped at his face and coughed. “Ah...well...I had a thought...about the clothing problem.”

The change of subject was a good one, thoughts of lilac silk pushing to the fore and making Fenris frown. “I will not wear such frilly clothing. I am not some pet to dress up and show off.”

“No. No I don't think any of us view you as a pet...” Anders coughed again, this time to hide a spurt of laughter. “What if I talk to Fran about our wardrobes for the trip?”

“You wish to dress me in corsets?” Now the tone was nearly outraged. Anders snorted at the mental image of Fenris in a corset and stockings. It was, admittedly, a very attractive image…Fenris beautiful, the silk and lace would be stunning on him. One look at the murderous gleam in the elf’s eye, though, reminded Anders that Fenris would only wear what Fenris wanted to wear – and pushing the issue would result in torn clothing and perhaps removal of body bits.

Speaking in a soothing tone, Anders used his free hand to play with Fenris' hair, “I thought Fran would know where we could get some more Tevinter-styled clothing. Your tunic and leggings are Tevinter in origin. I thought you would feel more comfortable in those styles.”

That Anders would go through the trouble of tracking down a proper tailor to sew him clothing he would wear made warmth fill Fenris. “I...I would be willing to try that, yes. Assuming the clothing is understated.”

“Of course,” Anders teased. “The better to show off my new robes.” That statement was said with a great deal of puppy eyes.

Lips twitching in amusement, Fenris pondered responding with a “we'll see” and then changing the subject. But really, Anders could pull off puppy-eyes wheedling better than anybody he had known and seeing his mage practically begging always made Fenris more inclined to agree to just about anything. If just to get Anders to stop pouting and instead naked...which was a much more enjoyable way to deal with begging Anders.

“Talk to Fran about my clothing...and yours.” The quiet “Yay” made him chuckle. “Now upstairs, mage. We have talked enough about this trip to Orlais.”

Anders knew exactly what those words meant. Waggling his eyebrows and slowly undoing the toggles that ran down the front of his more demure robes, he practically purred at Fenris, “Upstairs and where, Fen? Where do you want me?”

“Rug. Now,” was the growled response. He watched with heated eyes as Anders shed his clothing while walking up the stairs. Bless the mage's habit of wearing nothing under his robes.

***

  
The first room of the mansion cleaned by his over-active mage had been their bedroom. The ceiling had been cobbled back together, the sheets had been washed, mattress aired, and floor and walls scrubbed nearly to the studs. Anders, when focused, was a force to be reckoned with.

Now the room was a tidy haven – sweet smelling linens were on the bed and plush rugs covered the floor. Fenris approved of the rugs, of the more-pleasant bed, and most importantly of the rug placed in front of the fire. Where Anders was currently sprawled naked and aroused. It was a tempting sight, and one that had Fenris quickly placing his sword on the weapon stand and moving across the room.

Straddling his lover, Fenris slowly removed his tunic and tossed it across the room. Anders grinned and squirmed, rubbing his skin against the breeches, “These pants are amazing,” the words were breathless and tinged with desire.

“I will wear them for you and you only,” the words were followed by a careful string of bites along Anders' collarbone. Nothing pleased him more than marking his mage. His. His mage. The possessive urge to see Anders writhing took over leaving Fenris growling and Anders making sharp gasps as lips, tongue, and teeth were applied to every inch of freckled skin from collarbone to hips.

The rasp of tongue over the head of his cock made Anders nearly leap from the rug. “Fen...” he groaned. “You don't have to...” Fenris never used his mouth, preferring to make Anders writhe with fade fingers sliding through skin and muscles.

“Hush,” Fenris settled himself between spread thighs and glanced up at his mage, “I have been wanting to.”

“You said Danarius...” the words floated away on a long, quiet moan as the elf's tongue lapped up Anders' length and teased over the head again. “Fen...please...”

“You will lay there and come apart for me, Anders. You will not touch my hair or your body.” Fenris used his tongue to lightly tug on the ring gracing Anders' foreskin. “Or I shall stop and take my pleasure instead.”

The groan of agreement was all Fenris needed. Pressing his shoulders to Anders' thighs, spreading the mage wider, he worked his mouth down over Anders' length. Lyrium tattoos glowed as Fenris slid two fingers into the skin just under Anders' balls to tease over nerves and the root of the mage's cock. Hands twisting the rug, Anders' skin fractured blue – the lyrium and fade fingers causing Justice to writhe and gibber in the back of the mage's mind.

It didn't take long, the wet heat of Fenris' mouth combined with the fingers stroking sensitive nerves had Anders chanting Fenris' name and shuddering, pleasure causing his toes to curl. Fenris hummed his approval, swallowing and lapping gently to catch stray drops. Lifting his head he met glazed honey-brown eyes.

“Your warden stamina is a thing to celebrate,” Fenris teased, nibbling over one hip. “Is Justice giving you problems?”

Anders was busy trying to remember how to form words, the only sound coming from him a grunted “nng.” He shook his head, the blue glow fading from him.

“Mm...he is not to take over or I shall stop. Now roll over. I wish to watch you writhe.” The words made Anders' toes curl tighter and he rolled, stretching out on his stomach, hips twitching as the rug rubbed over his overly sensitive skin.

Admiring the long line of Anders' back, Fenris straddled the mage's hips and dipped his fingers into the scarred skin, sliding them down either side of the spine. Tickling at nerves, he watched Anders' clench his hands, moans puffing from his lips. Each section of the spine stimulated another section of the mage’s body, pleasure cascading through Anders as the fade touch tickled and slid up and down the long length of the mage’s back. A lot of time was spent toying with the nerves just above the tailbone, each stroke making Anders' hips rut more against the rug till the mage gave a sharp gasp and stiffened. Fenris’ name poured from his lips in a cascade of moaning, shivers working their way over pebbled skin.

“Good...very good Anders,” Fenris' voice was filled with approval. The elf placed open-mouthed kisses down his mage's back, swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin at the base of the spine before nipping at Anders' ass. “Mm...I think I’ll want you on your back for this, mage.”

Anders was panting, his body still shuddering from the orgasm. He rolled back over and let out a short yell when Fenris grasped his softening cock, fingers curling and stroking firmly. “Fen...I...can't...”

“You will. For me.” Fenris smiled, watching as Anders' cock grew hard again. “Pull your knees to your chest.” He stood and undid the tight breeches, kicking them off as he watched Anders intensely.

“Maker...you'll be the death of me,” Anders moaned, pulling up his knees and squirming at the feeling of fingers tickling over sensitive skin. “Do you need me to...oh...”

Fenris' tongue replaced his fingers. Lapping gently, swirling and pressing, he teased the mage till Anders was begging, was writhing and whimpering, skin flushed hot. Anders smacked at Fenris’ arm, dragged nails and pinched at the wrist. Holding out a hand, Fenris felt the zing of magic and then the cold slick of grease filling his palm.

He couldn’t wait. Fenris pressed a kiss to each inner thigh while smoothing the grease over his length. And then he was slowly pressing into his mage, pulling Anders' legs down so that he could grasp his mage’s cock again, stroking in time to his thrusts.

It didn't take much, his own arousal on edge after toying with Anders. The pleasure pooled into Fenris' lower back and he sped up his stroking. “Anders, cum for me. Let me hear you.”

Twisting and letting loose a loud yell, Anders’ bucked as he came one more time. Fenris followed him over, purring with his own pleasure. He caught himself on one hand, panting and nearly draped over Anders' chest. He worked to catch his breath, body tingling from the orgasm. Anders was limp, body loose and warm under him.

“I can't feel my toes again. And Justice is very disappointed we didn't lick you this time. Though he approved of the spine stroking. He apologizes for, erm, having me go glowy.” Anders was flexing his hands and feet, trying to remember how to move.

“I was not concerned overly much. Your spirit can lick me later. ” Fenris gave up and just let himself fall onto Anders' chest. A little stickiness was a small price to pay for a good post-coital snuggle – something he would never admit to enjoying. “Like a mint stick.”

“When can I lick you like a lollipop?” Anders carded a hand through Fenris' hair. “Or is that still a no?”

“Mage...” Fenris was too relaxed to work up much annoyance. “I...I am not ready...” He sighed and rubbed a finger over one nipple ring. “It is not you...”

“I know. I'm sorry I asked. I don't want to ruin this...” Anders worried, voice apologetic.

Fenris just shook his head, “You did not bother me or hurt my feelings. It is a valid question. And one I will have you ask again, later. I...the idea of you being inside of me is...it is not you.” Fenris finally settled on those words.

Sliding deft fingers into the soft, white hair spread over his chest, Anders scratched nails over Fenris' scalp, “You spoil me. This is enough, Fen. It is.”

The stroking fingers soothed the elf and he nuzzled closer to his mage, “Anders...I...”

“Me too, Fen.” Anders said quickly. Those words, those words weren't to be spoken. Not yet at least. Not even after such a physical joining. It was enough that he was there with Fenris, well loved and cared for. The words were just words.

It was everything else that truly mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fancy clothing for Fenris and Anders!
> 
> Relationship troubles with Isabela...
> 
> Or - chapter 1 of the "let's talk" chapters!

It had been nearly a month since Anders had put in the request for Tevinter style clothing. A month of fending off the Orlesian tailor’s demands to outfit both men and Hawke’s worries that their clothing wouldn’t be ready in time. Luckily for both Anders and Fenris, Fran’s runner delivered the message that the clothing was in and ready, welcome news as the departure time was fast approaching.

“I think Fenris will be happy with these,” Fran was saying as she pulled out a selection of tunics and modified leggings. “It took a little doing, nothing I couldn't handle but Maker.” She chuckled softly, “Those Tevinter tailors do enjoy their drama.”

“More than the Orlesian ones?” Anders fingered a tunic and shook his head. “I don't believe it.”

“Well believe it. My contact made a big to-do about outfitting the, how did he put it, Lyrium Ghost running loose in the South.” The words made Anders' head jerk up. Fran laid a calming hand on his shoulder, “It’s ok. Apparently Fenris is well known as a slaver killer and in the keeping of two very powerful mages.”

“Oh that's going to just make him happy,” muttered Anders. “I can already hear his diatribe on mages. I really don't think I'll share this alarming tidbit with him.”

“If it helps, the death of his odious master has put a damper on any thoughts of recovering him. As long as you two don't enter Tevinter, he’s safe. The magisters have other things to worry about. Apparently, Danarius' heir apparent went missing before his death. Leaving his lands and assets up for grabs. I'm happy to say Fenris isn't among those assets.” Fran squeezed Anders' shoulder. “It's big news in Minrathous – Danarius' death and the loss of his pet slave. The other magisters are relieved. None of them want Fenris found – none want the knowledge of his abilities circulated. Or so it’s whispered.”

“And of course a tailor would be privy to these secrets. Who notices the tailor when they’re measuring you and whatnot, right?” Anders chuckled and went back to admiring the tunic. It was done in a midnight blue nubby silk and embroidered in black thread along the cuffs and hem. Understated and elegant, austere in design, Fenris would love it – or so Anders hoped.

“I had one done in the blue, one in a deep green, and one in a blood red. All of them with black embroidery and all of them with matching breeches in black. The breeches were modeled after his leggings and should fit snugly but comfortably so. I ignored the boot selections.” Fran showed Anders a set of black foot coverings made from supple leather. “These fit over the top of the feet and leave the bottom bare. It was the best I could come up with.”

“He'll either be ok with them or he'll try to shred them,” Anders said on a laugh.

“Well, tell him to return them if he doesn't like them. Maker, that man wears me out. Now...for you...” Fran's eyes lit up with delight. “You are always a joy to dress.”

The mage shuffled and flushed, “Oh...stop it.”

“So handsome and tall. I had breeches and undershirts done up in black. All of them in black. You two will make quite the dramatic duo in your darker tones. Mm. The corsets are also black, but the embroidery matches up with the corresponding over-tunic.” The seamstress pulled out the mentioned over-tunics, all of them in vivid colors. The corsets were, as she described, done in black silk. But each one was embroidered in thread to match the tunics: copper, ruby red, and a striking ivory. Each tunic was a draping one-sleeved affair with high flaired collars and smooth, straight lines. She tapped the ivory one, “This one should be saved for a special social engagement. Preferably an evening soiree. The ivory will dirty easily. The other two are well suited for garden parties or afternoon affairs.”

Anders was fingering the high collars on the undershirts. “These are amazing.”

“Mm, the tunics will provide coverage over the corset. Fenris can't complain too much about you showing off your fine figure if you've got the over-tunic on.” Fran teased. “And these,” she laid a pair of tall black leather boots on the counter, “go with the outfits.”

“Sweet Maker,” Anders murmured, fingers dancing over the supple leather, “These are amazing.”

“Now, I expect you to wear my clothing, have fun, and relax.” Fran moved over to Anders and reached up to tap his nose. “You are looking healthy. I have told Fenris he is to not let you get so malnourished again or I will come after him with my pins.”

“Andraste's pyre! What is it with everybody and badgering Fen?” Anders threw his hands up and grumbled. “We had a fight...”

“You had more than that, Anders. And if there are people looking out for you, well, accept it.” Fran patted his cheek, her fingers stroking along his jaw. “You boys could be my sons. If I wish to mother you two, I will.”

“Oh well...you know...” Anders actually fumbled. He stood there with a shocked expression as Fran gave him a brief hug and then packed up the new clothing. “I...am very...”

“Mm,” She chuckled, “You go on home. Show Fenris the new clothes. And I want to hear all about the trip when you get back. Understand?”

“Yes...ma'am?” Anders croaked, eyes misty. He bent and pressed a kiss to Fran's cheek and gave her a bemused smile. A quick headshake and he was walking out with several wrapped packages under his arm.

He wasn't sure what had happened back there, but it left him feeling very warm.

***

  
An arm around his waist had Anders coming to a halt a half-block from Fran’s establishment. Isabela grinned and caught one of the packages as it tumbled from shocked fingers. “Hey Handsome, fancy meeting you here.”

“Izzy…” amusement and annoyance were intertwined in that one word. “You scared the pants off me.”

“Oh? Are you wearing some under that robe then?” Isabela let her hand ghost over his hip, laughing when his eyes widened. “Oh stop, I’m teasing you. I just happened to be out when I saw you exit the corset shop. What’s in all the packages?”

“Outfits for the trip. Fran had contacts in Tevinter. The style suits Fen better, I think. Or I hope.” Anders offered his friend a grin. “What are you doing out?”

“Oh well…” Isabela sighed and looked around. “I wanted to get Anya something.”

“Oh?” Now this was a turn of events. Not only was Isabela shopping for a gift, but she had used Hawke’s given name. “What happened?”

“Why should something have happened?” Isabela meandered over to a table and fingered a length of ribbon. “Can’t I get the woman I am sleeping with a gift?”

“You mean your lover? Your partner?” Anders watched a dull flush tint Isabela’s cheeks. “Izzy…”

“Anders,” She said, exasperated. “Oh fine. We had an argument, ok?”

“Ah…what kind of argument?” Anders shifted the packages, trying to not drop any. “Isabela, what kind of argument?”

“The one we always have. She wants me to move in and I say no. Then she gets her feelings hurt and sulks. It’s no fun,” Isabela groused. Underneath the grousing was a hint of fear. “She yelled this time. Said…said perhaps…it doesn’t matter.”

“It obviously does. Come on Izzy, Anya loves you,” Anders watched his friend stiffen.

“And isn’t that the problem? Wasn’t I supposed to be a fun, quick tumble? She should be with somebody with status…and I don’t want to be tied down…and…” Isabela flounced away from the vendor, eyes bright with unshed tears. “She wants things I can’t give.”

“Are you sure you can’t? You’re one of the most giving people I know,” Anders managed to get all the packages under one arm and wrapped his other around Isabela’s waist. “Look, this obviously matters to you. You’re out here looking for a way to say I’m sorry. By the way, I would recommend some flowers. You know how Hawke feels about flowers.”

“Ugh, they’re everywhere in that mansion of hers. Fine. You’re right. I’m worried. What if she won’t take me back this time? I was…I was an idiot.” Isabela twisted her hands and then dropped them. “Not that…I mean…” She let out a grumble.

“How about you give it a day or two? It’s almost wicked grace night. I’ll go see her tomorrow and talk to her. You pick up some flowers and some of those honey cakes she likes so much. It’ll work out, you’ll see.” Anders pressed a quick kiss to Isabela’s forehead.

“Fine.” Groused Isabela, perking up. “Hey, you missed.”

“I missed?” Anders was already shaking his head, laughter bubbling out when Isabela tapped her lips.

“What am I? An old lady. Your sister? Kisses go here, handsome,” Isabela said with an eyebrow waggle.

‘Not if you want to keep your lips,” A gravelly voice grumbled at the two of them. “Mage, you were gone too long. May I ask why you are caboodling with Isabela in the market?”

“Did your broody elf just use the word ‘caboodling?’” Isabela was openly laughing now. “He was being a good friend, Fenris. Stop the growling. And you, thank you.” She pulled Anders’ face down a bit and gave him a loud, dramatic kiss on his lips.

Anders just chuckled, “Flowers. Honey cakes. I’ll talk to Hawke tomorrow. Now go before I get into even more trouble.” He rolled his eyes as Isabela tossed him a wave and disappeared into the crowd.

“You were gone too long,” Fenris murmured, taking packages from his mage. “I worried.”

“That what? Fran had carted me off?” Anders bent down to press a kiss to his lover’s lips, a chaste one as they were in public and Fenris got antsy with displays of public affection.

“I just…worried. What was wrong with Isabela?” The elf allowed his hand to be nabbed before tugging Anders off towards home. “She was teasing but looked upset.”

“She got into a fight with Hawke. Hawke wants her to move in and Isabela keeps saying no,” Anders squeezed Fenris’ hand. “I can understand Hawke’s fears a little.”

“Hush mage. You know quite well I am yours. Completely. What happens between Isabela and Hawke is their business.” At Anders’ bland look Fenris sighed, “Of course they are our friends and if you are going to involve yourself…”

“Just to chat,” Anders lowered his voice, “To Hawke only.”

“Well…” Fenris glanced at the packages. “Are these the clothes?”

“Wait till you see them, Fen. I think you’ll be happy,” Anders hummed. “How about you try everything on while I start dinner? Cheese pies. Mm…fresh greens.”

“Just cheese pies?” Fenris knew that Anders could eat the entire lot by himself.

“Oh well…no. I have some meat pies as well.” There was a sound of excitement. “For you. Just in case.”

“Right well, home then. I promise to try on the clothing. I do not promise to like it,” Fenris said, his lips twitching in amusement. He knew he’d like the clothes.

“All I’m asking is for you to try, Fen. And let me eat all of the cheese pies.” Anders laughed, swinging their joined hands a bit.

Fenris simply shook his head, glad that it was not them having the relationship drama for once.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of "Let's Talk!"
> 
> Anders goes to see Hawke about her relationship...
> 
> Hawke presents him with an awkward gift...

“Anders, what brings you by?” Hawke was curled up on a rather plushy rug in front of the fire in the library, books strewn around her haphazardly, some open and some stacked. She brushed back messy hair and peered up at him with a look best described as “hurt puppy.”

Maker, the look was sad.

“Thought I’d drop by. It’s been a while since I’ve come by to infect your mansion with Darktown smells and Justice quips,” Anders said, dropping to the rug next to his friend. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks Anders,” Hawke sat up and glared at him, “Always a smooth talker, you. Why are you here?”

“Touchy too,” Anders leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” That one word was bitten off. If Anders hadn’t been living with the King of Broody he’d have been mildly put off. As it was, the “no” was followed by a delicate sniffle and then drooping shoulders.

Which made him sigh in exasperation. It took some doing, but he managed to wrangle her across the rug and onto his lap to pat and pet. “Alright Anya, talk to me.”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, she sent you didn’t she? It’s not enough to stomp on my heart, but she sends you to come put me back together?” Hawke’s grumble was damp and snotty, her breath hitching. “Well I don’t want to talk about it. Or her.”

“Let’s just say that I did run into a certain pirate while I was out yesterday picking up clothing. And let’s just say this pirate was beside herself and upset. And perhaps I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong…but seeing as how I love you two, I figured it was ok.” Anders’ hand smoothed over tangled strands. “Talk to me.”

“Talking won’t fix this,” pain filled the words. “I want her here with me and she keeps pushing me away. We’ve been together for years now. Years. I thought…I had really thought that she had left for good during the whole Qunari thing. But she came back and I thought…I mean really believed that meant she was serious. About me. About us.” Tears dripped down Hawke’s face. “But she keeps pulling away.”

Rubbing a thumb over a damp cheek, Anders sighed. “I am really not the person to be offering relationship advice. My last lover had to be killed and this one…Maker...”

The laugh was choked, “How is Fenris?”

“Broody. Bossy. Wonderful.” Anders’ face lit up. “It’s…I never thought…ah well.”

“We’re two really screwed up people, Anders. You fall for the mage-hating broody elf and I fall for the free-spirited thief.” The words were bitter.

“Hawke,” exasperation filled the word, “What is this really about? Because you’ve known Izzy for so long this shouldn’t upset you as much.”

“I got a letter from Carver. It just…tore me up a little. Made me aware of how lonely I am in this big house without Mother and without his grousing and whining.” The smile on Hawke’s face was brittle. “I was hurting and tired of waking up alone every morning.”

“How is Carver?” Fingers slowly worked at a knot in Hawke’s hair, words casual.

“He’s good. In Ferelden. Amaranthine, I think he said.” Hawke relaxed under Anders’ ministrations. A sudden tug had her glancing back at him, the bark of laughter making her blink in surprise.

“He’s at Vigil? Really? Did he mention a Nathaniel at all? Maker…the memories…” The snort of laughter was followed by some shifting. “Some more amusing than others.”

“A Nathaniel Howe? He’s Second in Command. Why?”

“Hah. Oh…Nate and I got into a world of trouble together after the Commander left.” For a moment, amusement and affection filled Anders face. Then it slowly trickled away as other memories filtered in. “Mm…anyway. Probably best to not go down memory lane right now.”

“Want to talk about it?” Hawke was staring up at him, eyes piercing.

“Maker no! No. I’m here for you, sweetheart. Not me.” Anders gave a half-hearted smile and gently moved Hawke off his lap so he could stand and pace.

“Hmm…” The hum was one of discontent. Falling backwards on the rug, Hawke stared up at the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll…I’ll give her another chance.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll go away or because you really will give her another chance?” Anders loomed over Hawke. “Anya…you don’t have to do anything. But I can tell you she’s hurting. And you’re hurting.”

Drumming her feet on the ground, Hawke scrunched her nose up and sighed, “Do I just keep doing this? Pushing and then backing off?”

“You give her time. And yourself. Eventually, you two will find a happy medium. I can’t tell you what that is, but you’ll find it eventually.” Anders held out a hand and pulled Hawke up.

“You’re such a healer, Anders. Always putting us all back together. Just…don’t forget about yourself. And don’t let Fenris walk all over you.” Hawke squeezed his hand. “Alright?”

“Maybe I like it when he walks all over me,” Anders grinned, the grin dimming under the weight of Hawke’s stare. “What?”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again. Fenris knows that if it happens again, he’s going to answer to me.” Anders threw his hands up and stalked across the room at that. He stopped and glared at the wall, foot tapping.

“I am tired of people threatening him. We had a fight…” Anders started.

“You almost died,” Hawke finished. “None of us are willing to let that happen again.”

“Have you considered why he did it? Have you even thought about his side of this entire issue?” Anders ground out.

Hawke moved to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. It felt like Fran’s…warm and solid, affectionate. “If you had hurt him that badly, we’d be threatening your life. Alright? Now just accept that you’re loved and move on.”

“Fine,” Anders sighed, “I had best go…”

“Oh! Wait! While I have you here I have something for you. And you tell Fenris that I don’t want details but a thank you would be amazing,” Hawke said, flitting from the room. Anders stood by the bookshelf and blinked. Not much more than a couple minutes later and Hawke was flying back into the library.

He got a big grin and then a package shoved into his hands. “Open it!” was the excited order.

Anders tugged off the string and pulled open the paper, grabbing at the slide of smooth material. Letting the brown paper flutter to the floor, he held up a nearly sheer ivory lawn chemise edged along the neckline and sleeves with pale blue ribbon and lace. Anders looked at the chemise and then raised one eyebrow at Hawke.

“What’s this?” He waved the cloth at her and blinked.

“Well…see…I had ordered one for myself and then got to thinking that you like silky things and I like silky things…” Hawke’s voice drifted into silence. “Well, that sounded better in my head.”

“You were ordering yourself lingerie and thought that I would like some as well?” Anders was biting his lip, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Because…”

“Oh bother. I told Isabela this was a bad idea. You hate it…and…I thought it would be comfortable under your robes. Since you don’t wear anything under them…” That made Hawke blush.

Anders glanced down at his robes and then back to Hawke. “How do you know?”

“A good stiff wind,” was Hawke’s dry reply. A smile crept up her face, “You have a great ass.”

“Andraste’s flaming tits, why didn’t anybody tell me? I never had this problem in the circle…oh…we never went outside…” Anders pondered thin cotton robes and all the outdoor walking they did. “Just my ass?”

“I’m not commenting on your knob, Anders. Outside of my expertise. Ask Fenris. I’m sure he has an opinion on it, yes? The chemise is a gift. I think it’ll fit. I think.” Hawke tilted her head and grinned. “At the very least, Fenris should like it.”

“Maker, he’ll probably tear it. No, it’s lovely. I…thank you for the thoughtful if awkwardly embarrassing gift. Yes. I should…head home…and show Fenris…” Anders wondered how he should couch the explanation. He was fairly certain saying “Hawke gave me undergarments because my ass was distracting” was a good way to incite a fight. He saw Hawke’s grin turn cheeky and rolled his eyes. Maybe he would use that phrase.

“Thank you for checking on me. It made me feel loved,” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “See you tomorrow for Wicked Grace? Maybe you’ll wear one of your fancy robes?”

“Maker…you…yes. I’ll see you. Yes.” Anders gave a slight mumble of “we’ll see” to the robes question and headed out, chemise gripped tightly in one hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travel Plans, Cinched Robes, and Anders' fears of Val Royeaux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I do know where Chateau Haine is SUPPOSED to be located - but it doesn't fit this story. So I moved it. The entire chateau.
> 
> And changed the mansion's history.
> 
> Otherwise no shopping in Val Royeaux.

“I truly do not understand why you felt the need to wear that robe to Wicked Grace,” Fenris groused, eyes tracking down Anders. “It is...”

“What I wanted to wear,” Anders said firmly, hands smoothing over the deep green cinched waist of the corseted robe. “I like it; I wanted to wear it.”

Fenris fidgeted. They were standing just outside of the Hanged Man while talking. Fenris had grumbled all the way to the tavern about the corseted robe and had finally pulled his lover to a stop to grouse out-loud. His eyes took in the long length of Anders again, sighing “I just wish you wore them only at home.”

“These were meant to be worn in public, Fenris. Stop controlling everything,” Anders pinched his nose, closing his eyes to try to calm down. “I am a grown man. If I wish to wear the fancy robes my lover bought me to wicked grace night, I will.”

“They are too revealing,” Fenris muttered, his hands clenching. “I do not like the way everybody looks at you.”

“Fenris...Fen...I'm not sure I can be any clearer. Justice approves of you. Only you. I approve of you. Only you. We both want you. Only you.” Anders decided Fenris' views on public affection could hang. He slid his arms around his elf's shoulders and tugged him in for a tight hug.

“Venhedis, mage, you are groping me,” Fenris muttered while smooshed to Anders' chest. “And I am unable to breathe properly.” The muttering continued but the elf didn't pull away.

“You know,” Anders whispered against Fenris' ear, taking the opportunity to press gentle kisses against the sensitive skin, “Instead of getting upset when people admire my outfit you could enjoy knowing that at the end of the night I'll be going home with you. And only you.”

Fenris quirked an eyebrow and thought about it, a possessive gleam filling his eye, “You make a valid point, mage.”

Anders chuckled, warm breath ghosting over damp skin and causing Fenris to shiver, “I am yours. Or have you forgotten how I wear your collar? Out in public, at home...”

Strong fingers slid into his mage’s hair and tugged till his head was pulled back and Fenris could look into honey-brown eyes, “And you do not mind?”

Anders didn't answer right away. The question was a thorny one – his reasons wrapped in layers of affection and need and fear. He had run from so much in his life. To allow anybody to claim him...to live with them and want to make them happy...it was a first for him. “It doesn't represent oppression. Wearing it is my way of showing my affection for you. It was freely offered and I freely accepted. It doesn’t put you over me…it isn’t…it isn’t like what the templars do…”

“You don't have to wear it all the time,” Fenris' fingers found the thin chain holding the narrow torque together and toyed with it, smoothing over and up the mage’s neck.

“No, but it's from you. And it helps when I get...when Justice and I...” Anders exhaled.

“I understand,” Fenris stepped back and sighed. “I am sorry, Anders. You are not a thing for me to own. If you wish to wear your robes, you should wear them.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Anders pressed a quick kiss to the elf's cheek. “Now...shall we go in and create a stir?”

“Do I have a choice?” Fenris sighed again, small smile forming on his face, ears flicking in amusement.

“Sure. We can go home. Ignore wicked grace. Get shnockered. Have crazy sex...” Anders waggled his eyebrows. “I could spend all night licking you, for instance.”

“And have Hawke chase us down? No, we shall go upstairs and behave. But later...I expect licking,” Fenris opened the door to the tavern and glanced back at Anders and gave him a wide, wicked grin.

Anders chuckled and followed him into the tavern, face pinking as the first whistle split the air.

***

  
“We’ll travel via sea to Val Royeaux and then continue on to Lake Celestine,” Hawke was explaining to a very stony faced Varric. “The sea portion shouldn’t take too long. Right Izzy?”

“Mm? No. Not too long. Just long enough for Varric to decide to vomit on everybody’s shoes I should imagine,” Isabela chuckled at the disgruntled face made by the dwarf. “I’ll make sure we have passage on a comfortable ship. Three berths, if we can get it. Otherwise Varric will have to bunk with the lovebirds.”

Anders and Fenris were sitting side-by-side, chairs as close together as possible, with Anders slouched and resting his head against Fenris’ arm. Fenris had a possessive arm around his mage. The arm had been there since the two of them reached Varric’s room and everybody had gotten a look at Anders’ robes.

“We are not lovebirds,” Fenris’ voice was bland, hand stroking lightly over the feathers on his mage’s shoulder. “We are not birds, period.”

“Mm, your mage has some pretty plumage tonight, though,” Varric said, a wide grin on his face.

“Thank you, Varric,” Anders straightened and preened just a bit. “I do love my robes.”

“They look good on you, Blondie, I’ll give you that. You can pull that style off better than any man I know.” Varric took a long drink from his ale and pondered his now-empty tankard. He’d gone through twice as many – possibly because of that damn slit in said robes that showed off one well-muscled, silk-clad leg. He caught Fenris’ eye and gave the elf a wide, toothy smile. Varric may not be interested in romancing Anders, but he would make sure the elf remembered that other people found the mage attractive.

Especially when wearing those robes.

Hawke cleared her throat and pressed onward with the travel plans. “Anyway, we’ll get a day or two in Val Royeaux before we start the final leg of our trip.” Hawke caught Anders’ eye and smiled, “Worried?”

“About two apostates banging around the seat of the Chantry? No…not at all. Justice is only gibbering madly in my mind. And of course I’m always concerned their large contingent of templars will find us…they have such a lovely, large circle right there. The better to throw us both in and…and…” inhaling sharply, Anders started tapping a fast beat on the table. “I mean, what could go wrong? Right?”

“Mage,” Fenris released Anders and leaned forward and wrapped his hands around twitching fingers. “Look at me.”

“Hmm? What? I’m alright. I am…just…nervous,” the mage gave a quick chuckle but turned to look into Fenris’ eyes.

“They will not touch you.” The words were spoken with simple finality. Fenris squeezed the cold fingers nestled in his hands. “You are mine and not theirs.”

Exhaling and nodding, Anders gave in and pressed his face against the Fenris’ neck. “I know, I just…”

“You do not have to explain.” Fenris wrapped an arm back around his shaking mage and shook his head at Hawke. “Is there not someplace else we may dock?”

“Val Royeaux is the biggest port. It’ll be fine – easy really – to slip in and out. The crowds will be thick enough and we’ll be just another group passing through. Just don’t flaunt your abilities.” Hawke was watching Anders attempt to crawl onto Fenris’ lap.

“Mage, we are in public.” Fenris grumped. “Oh fine, if you insist. Come here. None of you will say a word.” Green eyes glared at each person sitting around the table.

“Not a word,” Varric agreed as Anders finally succeeded in wiggling onto Fenris’ lap.

His mage was tall, tall and lanky and attempting to burrow into his chest. It was a little awkward sitting in these chairs while holding his lover – not like at home where they had a rug to stretch out on. Fenris tugged and pulled till Anders was straddling his lap, face pressed to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Memories…I can’t…” Blue splintered along Anders’ skin as Justice reared up. “We will not return,” the words were spoken in a deeper tone, backed by a spirit’s anger. “Unjust...”

“Shh,” Fenris rubbed hands up and down his mage’s back and activated his brands. “Mage. You are losing control.”

The surge in lyrium had Justice pausing, the spirit becoming entranced by the singing mineral burned into the elf’s skin. Anders turned his face and pressed his nose tightly against one spiral curling down Fenris’ neck.

“Mage…” Fenris warned, sighing when Anders pressed a heated kiss against his skin. “I do not wish to do this in public.”

“So pretty,” the words were slurred, a mix of Anders and Justice.

Across the table, Isabela covered her mouth and tried, hard, to swallow down the lurid comments she had building, steadily, in her mind. Fenris caught her eyes and stared at her – violence in his gaze. She shook her head, pressing her hands tighter to her mouth.

“Does that help?” Merrill asked, interest in her voice. “Have you ever pressed your fist into him?”

“Sweet Maker, Kitten,” Isabela gasped. “Do not ask those questions!”

“I just wondered if it would help Justice. That’s all, Izzy.” Merrill turned wise eyes to Isabela. “So close to the Fade, I am sure Fenris sings to the spirit.”

“I…would not wish to do that in public. There are…reasons.” Fenris said slowly.

“Like what?” Aveline was folding up the map of Orlais to keep it from getting ruined. “Afraid we’ll get the wrong idea? I mean, why else would you stick your hand into somebody?”

“Man-hands…we need to talk…” Isabela choked out. Seeing Fenris’ glare, she raised her hands, ‘Not now. Later. I’ll explain all about the birds and bees later.”

“Fasta vass, it causes…pleasurable side effect.” Fenris growled. He stroked his hands back down Anders’ back. “Mage?”

“Please? He’s calming down. I just…please…” Anders whimpered softly. “I can’t deal with my fears and Justice at the same time. You know that.”

Sighing in defeat, Fenris pressed a gentle kiss to Anders’ cheek and slid one finger inbetween the shoulder blades. The mage stiffened and then exhaled slowly, relaxing against his elf. “Better?” Fenris pressed another kiss to Anders' cheek, body relaxing at the jerky nod. “You will be safe. I promise.”

“Anybody even looks at you cross-eyed I'll introduce them to Bianca,” Varric said, patting the crossbow he always kept within touching distance. “Don't worry Blondie, they'll be so busy admiring your fine form in those robes that they won't even think twice on if you're a mage. Fenris will be too busy keeping them from trying to seduce you away.”

The very thought had Fenris growling and Anders choking out a laugh. Isabela chuckled and leaned over, smiling up at Hawke. “And I'll keep them off of you,” Her voice was husky.

Hawke pressed a quick kiss to Isabela's nose. “Well, this is shaping up to be quite the trip already.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they're off to Orlais!
> 
> Smut! On the Ship!
> 
> And one very pissy Chantry Sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly certainly dedicated to Penbrydd - because of his commentary a while back on his over-active neighbors. :D

The Wind Dancer was a trim merchant vessel designed for fast cargo hauls and passengers – the second being the reason why Isabela had chosen this particular vessel for their trip. She had been able to secure three berths at the last minute – thanks to a generous amount of gold from Varric and Hawke and her fine talents of persuasion. The ship had four total passenger berths – all tiny rooms in a row. They had taken the first three rooms. The fourth was being used by a Chantry sister traveling to Val Royeaux.

Anders had stared daggers at the woman until Fenris had shoved him into their berth. Which was right next to said Sister.

Anders sat on the blankets piled into a pallet in their small room and fussed over Bun, who was clinging to him. “Shh, sweetheart. It'll be ok. And you don't have to leave the room. See? I packed your box and your nip toy and your yarn. It'll be ok, I swear.”

Fenris stood at the door, smile twitching at his lips. His mage was casting a spell, he could feel the pull on his tattoos, and then Bun let out a mrrp of relief. Whatever Anders had done had soothed the cat enough to curl up on the blankets and purr instead of cling to him in fear.

“We should have left Bun with Merrill,” Fenris turned to watch Anders pull off his boots.

“I traveled the deep roads with a cat in my pack, I can go to some Orlesian chateau with a cat.” Anders groused, scooting back so he could lean against the wall and stretch out his legs. “Maker but this is tight. I'd forgotten how much I hate sea travel.”

“It's only for a few days. And do you really mind that we'll be shoved on top of each other?” Fenris let the door close, latching it against intruders. He started unbuckling armor, stacking it in a corner next to their travel packs. “I can think of a few things to keep you occupied, mage.”

“You know, I always can tell your mood by how you say the word 'mage,'” Anders chuckled. “You used to wield it like a weapon. Now it sounds like a pet name.”

Fenris ignored him for the moment, tugging off his tunic and taking the few steps needed to get to where Anders sat. Offering a slow smile, he straddled his mage's lap and tilted forward to press against the robe-covered chest. “Perhaps it is a pet name. As close to an endearment as I can manage.”

Anders blinked a bit at the affection, stiffening slightly. “You are...cuddling...”

“I am, yes.” Fenris agreed, pressing himself a hair closer. “Is that a problem?”

“It's just...you aren't one to...” Anders fumbled for words as his elf wiggled and settled himself. Finally giving in, Anders loosely wrapped his arms around Fenris and relaxed.

Face twisted as if in concentration, Fenris gave a slight huff and pressed his face against his mage's chest. “I am concerned about Val Royeaux. And you being there. This concern is...new for me. This is all new for me. The need to keep you safe, the worries that you will be injured...the urge to hold you. It is all new.”

The words made Anders pause and think. His elf was still tense, despite the cuddling, muscles in his back clenched. The mage let his hands slide up and then down that strong back, soothing strokes. “Would you prefer to hold me?”

“No I...I think I like this. Feeling you under me is settling.” The words came out slightly muffled, Fenris' mouth brushing against the cotton covering Anders' chest. “Could you remove your robe for me? I wish to feel your skin.”

Fenris shifted, sliding back so that Anders could unbutton and unbuckle the robe. Wiggling, the two of them managed to get the garment over his head, tossing it across the small space to land on the bags. Bun followed, curling up in the fabric and making slightly grumpy noises at the two men for disturbing her.

Fenris chuckled at the cat, turning that amused smile to Anders, the smile growing more pleased at the sight of the chemise, at the feel of smooth fabric and silky ribbons. “Leave this,” his fingers stroked over a one strap. “This is acceptable.”

“You always like me in silky things,” Anders settled back and pulled Fenris snugly against his chest.

“The clothing. It is...exotic on you. There is something about seeing you cinched and covered in silk. It inflames me.” the words were a husky whisper.

“Oh well,” Anders preened a bit. “I admit I do like to wear it. The clothes. The jewelry. I mean, Nate had a thing for piercings and tats. Your need for silks and lace is certainly more comfortable.”

There was a soft growl and Fenris nipped at Anders' collarbone. “I like your piercings and tattoos. I have considered getting a chain for these.” He nuzzled over a nipple ring. “The body slaves wore them. It was...”

Anders hummed, “Arousing?”

“Is it hard for you? Me wanting you to play the submissive?” The question was inquisitive.

Anders thought about it. “No...not especially.” His breath caught on an inhale as Fenris pressed his mouth over a lawn-covered nipple and sucked. “Ahh...I know you...oh oh...I know you don't...can't...Fen...”

“Mm?” Fenris looked up, lips quirking in amusement. “Yes?”

“I thought we were cuddling,” breathless laughter.

“We are.” Teeth worried over the fabric covered nipple ring. “But perhaps the cuddling is encouraging other activities.”

“Oh...” The teeth caught the ring and tugged, gently at first and then harder. Anders rolled his head against the wall and panted.

“We would need to be quiet.” Fenris moved to the other nipple, lapping at it through the fine lawn. “I wonder how far I can push you before you make a noise. You have been getting better at making such lovely noises for me.” Teeth caught in the second nipple ring and tugged sharply. Anders choked back a moan. “Shall we see how much you can take?”

“Maker yes...” Anders found himself tugged down onto the blankets and pinned, Fenris sliding down his body while slowly tugging up the chemise. A bite to one hip had Anders pinching lips together and closing his eyes.

Fenris had, over the last few weeks, decided one of the best things in life was to lick every inch of Anders' body. Before, the thought of giving oral sex had been abhorrent to the elf, an act forced upon him by Danarius. But with Anders, there was no forcing. No fingers pressed down on Fenris' head, his hair was not pulled harshly or used to hold him steady. He chose how far he took Anders' cock, if he'd swallow, if he'd even let the mage cum.

The idea of pushing Anders to the brink, knowing his mage could be brought to orgasm several times in a row, was intoxicating. The thin walls only made it the entire idea more erotic.

Anders was already nearly writhing on the blankets, skin flushed a lovely red. Pressing pale thighs apart, Fenris admired all that lovely skin, the curling blond hairs, the freckles that dotted over one hip. Sliding a finger down the mage's impressive erection, he stopped at the three small rings that marched in a row from the base of Anders' cock and down his sac.

“ohsweetmakeryes,” Anders gibbered as Fenris tugged on the top ring, first with a finger and then with his tongue. The gibbering continued in time with each tug, with each lapping, teasing, nibbling jerk.

The quiet gibbering turned into a bitten off, wheezing yell as fingers slid into the delicate skin just under testicles and slid outward and down one thigh to toy with muscles and nerves. Waves of pleasure spread across and up Anders’ body, his breath hitching as each gasp and moan was swallowed. Gripping at the blankets, he tossed his head, tiny pleas slipping from his throat as Fenris swallowed his length down.

The first orgasm was accompanied by a nearly silent inhale and moan, the mage’s body stiffening and then shuddering.

Settling back on his knees, Fenris licked at his lips and admired his panting, sweat-sheened mage. The word “beautiful” was murmured before kisses were spread over thighs and back down to tease over sensitive skin.

Anders whimpered as fingers slid over and then gripped him, stroking and teasing him back to hardness. “Again…” was the command. “And quietly.”

“I won’t make it to Orlais,” Anders gasped, body arching as pleasure started tightening through him. “I won’t.”

“Mm… you will.” Fenris admired the glistening cock, reaching out to tug on the ring dangling from foreskin. “You said you were bored.” The tugging went from gentle to sharp.

“Ahh…yes…” Hips arched and quivered. “I…need…”

Fenris chuckle and slid up his mage’s body to kiss him, rutting his still-legging covered groin against Anders’ erection. “Mm…I know what you need, mage.”

Anders slammed his head into the wooden decking below the pallet and shoved a corner of one blanket into his mouth. Fenris gave a low laugh, bent his head, and bit down on Anders’ neck. “Now then…for orgasm number two…”

***

  
“But I can’t possibly be expected to travel all the way to Val Royeaux with that…that…” the Chantry sister was speaking furiously to the First Mate and gesturing at Fenris and Anders’ door. “horrific activity.”

“Messere, that is the only berth left on the ship. These fine people paid extra to make sure they received passage.” The man smoothly answered, face not even wincing when a loud yell and the sounds of something tipping over clattered into the narrow hallway. “I am sure they are almost done.”

“Almost done? It has been going on for hours. HOURS.” The irate woman kicked at the door. “If you do not do something…”

“What would you wish me to do? They are locked in their room. They have not bothered anybody or caused any problems. Just…ignore it.” There was a low, long moan and then quiet reigned. “See…”

“But…but…” The Chantry sister gaped as the First Mate turned smartly and headed back to the main deck. Another glance at the door and then the Chantry sister was stomping back into her room, slamming her door.

Snickering could be heard from Fenris and Anders’ room, followed by a surprised gasp and a “That was number Six. Shall we see if we can go for one more round?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Docking in Val Royeaux - first leg of the journey is done!
> 
> Much chatter with Fenris, Anders, and Isabela
> 
> Also - here now begins the entirely AU "Chateau has been moved and Maggie Re-imagines Val Royeaux and Orlais" section.
> 
> Yes.

Val Royeaux's commercial docks were set just south of the city limits along the Waking Sea. A small, bustling community had sprung up around the area boasting taverns, inns, and a few merchants. Coaches left from the inns throughout the day, ferrying travelers to and from the city proper. The Wind Dancer had docked mid-afternoon and Hawke and Varric had gone to find a free carriage to take them into the city proper.

The trip hadn't been too onerous – at least for Fenris and Anders. They had spent copious amounts of time in their berth – Anders to stay away from the Chantry Sister and Fenris because he hated to leave Anders alone. Time was passed working on reading lessons with Fenris or studying spell books – or playing with Bun. Or snuggling, which always ended up with angry hammering against their walls and curses from the Sister.

Anders' favorite part of the entire trip had been to see how many times he could make the Sister curse out loud.

Varric had tried to hole up in his room with a bucket, but Isabela had dragged him out into the sun. Sitting on the main deck seemed to help the rampant seasickness. Unfortunately it also gave him a bit of a sunburn – something that Anders had fixed before he had left the ship.

Isabela and Hawke had split time between being on deck with Varric and spending quality alone time in their room. Isabela had delighted in seeing just how loud she could get Anya going, a constant source of amusement for the guys and another reason the Sister looked haggard on the day they pulled into port.

Leaning against the railing, Anders watched as the Sister had “words” with the Captain. His Orlesian was a bit rusty but she seemed to be complaining, loudly, about the state of her accommodations. He covered his mouth to hide a smile when the Sister gestured over at him. Composing his face, he gave the Captain a bland look, the Captain's lips twitching a bit in amusement.

“Mage...what are you doing?” Fenris' voice came from his left. Without looking, Anders wrapped an arm around Fenris and pulled him snugly against his side. “Mage...” his elf hissed.

“Shh. That no-good Sister is having it out with the Captain. I'm trying to listen. So far we've been called savage heathens, perversions before the Maker, ungodly, and oh...she just fit in the word slattern. I think that's in reference to that time Isabela went bouncing down the hall in just her underskirts. Remember that?”

“Isabela owns no underskirts,” Fenris was now watching the tirade. The Sister caught his eyes and he gave her a wide, toothy smile before wrapping both arms around Anders. “Mm...she did not approve of the affection.”

Anders coughed, “Who are you and what have you done with my elf? And Izzy does own underskirts. For her new gowns. Why she was running down the hallway in JUST the underskirts is the real mystery. But remembering the noises from their room after Hawke caught her, well...”

“Mm...I should have told you be louder,” Fenris leaned up and nuzzled Anders' neck.

Blinking, Anders tilted his head back to allow his elf better access, gasping when Fenris bit down. “Fen...we're...this isn't...”

“Mm...you are mine. It is best they remember that,” Fenris licked over the bite mark and shot the Sister a look. She went flaming red, gaped, and marched away from the Captain who simply bowed to Fenris and Anders and took himself off to work.

“Is this because of the outfit?” Anders had put on one of his corset-robes for their first look at Val Royeaux, this one is a deep, rich brown with dark red embroidery.

“Mm, perhaps. I noticed the way the sailors watched you as you came up on deck. I know the sounds you made on the trip. I will not have them assuming you are anything but mine,” Fenris growled the last word and glared around the ship. “The Chantry Sister should know that you are under my protection as well.”

Warm sparks skittered over Anders' skin, breath catching as the words wrapped him like a warm blanket. Fenris had called him his many times, but seeing the protective gleam, knowing his elf would not leave his side while in Val Royeaux...it made emotions well up.

“Fenris...” the words were choked. “I...you...”

“You are important to me. It is more than a promise. You are not a thing for me to own, but you are still mine. I will not let them touch you,” the words were spoken again. Fervently, honestly. “You will have nothing to fear while you are here.”

***

They were still nuzzled together, the elf pressed tightly to the mage's side, when Isabela found them. She watched for a moment as Fenris' hand trailed down over one hip, toyed with the slit in the robe's skirt, and then slid back up to squeeze at the silk-covered waist. It made her smile, the way Fenris pulled Anders a hair closer, the attentiveness on the elf's face as he listened to Anders talk, the light blush that colored pale cheeks when Fenris responded with something that obviously pleased the mage.

Something in Isabela's chest twisted, thoughts of Hawke pulling forward. It made her shake her head at herself. Surely Hawke knew...she had to know that Isabela...that nobody would be allowed to touch a hair on her head. Thoughts of the elf they would be meeting – that Tallis – sprung up and made her frown. Tallis had been very attentive the last time they had spoken. Too attentive. It was something worth thinking about. Something to ponder.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, she cocked her hip and let out a whistle, “Hey you two, get a room.” She watched as Fenris turned narrowed eyes on her and Anders gesture rudely in her direction. It made her laugh, made her pleased. “We're just about ready. You should get Bun.”

That made Anders straighten, the thought of his cat always catching his attention.

“I'll get her,” Anders pulled away slowly, “I think it's just her and the bag holding her things in the berth. Thanks Izzy.” He pressed a quick kiss to Fenris' cheek and rushed off, skirts flaring.

“Mm...I should make him rush off more often. I believe I got a glimpse of bare skin there,” Isabela purred as she joined Fenris at the railing. She laughed at his possessive growl, “Enjoy it, Fenris. He clearly has eyes only for you.”

Leaning back against the railing, Fenris watched as Isabela settled, her face pensive. “What is it?” His eyes were fixed on her face.

Isabela didn't answer at first, her eyes scanning the crowds below looking for her lover. Fear niggled at the back of her mind. Even though Varric was with her, Anya was still an apostate and Orlais wasn't any kinder to them than the Free Marches. “It's sweet. You two.”

“If you think to bate me you will have to try harder than that. Anders needs the reassurance and I find myself willing to give it to him,” Fenris' voice was even.

“And it's not hard to give? You've never had this before...don't you find it stifling? The needs? The constant attention? The responsibilities?” She rubbed at a rough spot on the railing.

“You told me to be serious about him and now you question my seriousness,” the response was amused. “Do you not have all of this with Hawke? Are you not devoted to her?”

“I...” in a rare moment of introspection, honesty, Isabela hesitated. “I want to be, and that scares me.”

They stood at the railing and contemplated that statement, the simple truth behind it. “It scares me too,” Fenris finally admitted. “But it is worth the fear.”

Anders came clattering up behind them, breathless and flushed. Bun poked her head from her pack on his back and gave a welcoming meow. “Maker, those sailors can catcall.”

“Do I need to speak to them?” Fenris straightened and glared behind Anders at the few men peeking up from below deck. “Perhaps show them that touching you is ill-advised?”

“Oh stop. It was actually pretty flattering,” Anders glanced back and grinned at the men. They gave a whoop of delight and clattered back down below. “See? They're just having fun.”

Isabela let out a husky laugh, “Anders, if I ever pick up piracy again I should recruit you to my crew. You would make an excellent distraction.” She waggled her eyebrows as the wind swirling his skirt around his legs and showed off hints of skin at the tops of the stockings. “And I'd gain a valuable skirmisher in Fenris.”

Fenris, who had been about to growl, stopped and pondered the offer. “We could hunt down slavers.”

“He sounds just like Justice when he brings up slavers,” Anders laughed, the laugh turning into a yelp as Fenris nabbed him and pressed him firmly against the railing. “I meant it in a good way!”

“Mage,” Fenris growled against Anders' ear, “You test my patience. And we are too public for me to properly chastise you.”

“Bun...watch out for Bun...” Anders whimpered, going limp.

“The cat is fine. I see her grooming her face. You will hush and not compare me to your spirit. Not in public,” Fenris took the opportunity to tug lightly on the chain holding the torque closed. Watching as hurt crossed Anders' face, he sighed. “Too many ears. You should not speak of him. It is...unsafe.”

“Oh...Oh!” Realization hit Anders. “Right. Sorry. I thought...”

“Too much thinking again,” Fenris leaned up a bit more, hand moving into Anders' hair. A quick move and his hair was unbound and grasped firmly in a lyrium-lined hand. “I cannot properly stop you from doing that in public, either.”

“Boys...you are making me very hot and bothered,” Isabela was watching the by-play closely. “And causing half the ship to lose concentration.”

Stepping back, Fenris nodded at Isabela but kept his eyes firmly on Anders who, for his part, tried to straighten his clothing and not look like he was pleased. Bun let out a squawk as Anders' loose hair got in her face. She mrrped in discontent and settled back into her pack to nap.

“Leave it down,” Fenris toyed with one blond strand. “Bun will forgive you for it.”

“Ho there!” A stout voice from the docks hailed the ship. “I'm looking for three passengers!” A carriage driver stood by a closed carriage and two fine bays. The carriage door opened and Hawke stepped out, waving at the ship.

“Just in time. She always knows exactly when to show up. Shall we go before you two cause the entire crew to combust from sexual tension?” Isabela picked up her pack and raised an eyebrow at the two men.

“Yes. The sooner we are off this ship the sooner we are at the Inn,” Fenris took one of Anders' hands.

Anders just smiled and followed his elf, a slight sashay evident in his stride.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally heading into Val Royeaux...
> 
> Fenris lets slip a term of endearment...

Trees adorned with their fall finery edged the road from the docks to Val Royeaux proper. The road was well-maintained and filled with merchant caravans, travelers, other carriages, and Chantry Sisters – all headed to the great city gates. The carriage driver wove in between the bustle expertly and kept up a running commentary with Varric, who had opted to ride up top. Inside the carriage, Hawke told the others about the Inn they would be staying at, a small place situated in the quieter lower markets. When asked the name, she shrugged and said “something Orlesian having to do with violets.”

Anders had his face pressed to the glass of the carriage, eyes taking in the other travelers. He was just about to turn around to tell Fenris about the exceedingly fancy outfit one matron was wearing when he saw a large group of templars ahead. Swallowing, he slid down a bit in the seat and closed his eyes, Justice awakening at the sudden spurt of fear and anger.

“Anders?” Hawke leaned forward, her hand brushing over his knee, “What is it?”

“Templars. Big group of them.” Anders' breath was coming fast and shallow. “What if they...”

“We are just another carriage heading into the city. My staff is packed. Your staff is packed. We look like normal travelers. It'll be fine,” Hawke soothed, her hand stroking over the silk-covered knee.

Nodding, Anders tried to relax, to tell Justice it would all be ok. The spirit fretted, hummed and murmured quiet words of “unjust” and “we will never go back.” Closing his eyes, Anders let his head fall back to rest against the seat back and tried to not listen.

“Mage. Anders...” Fenris was pulling at his shoulders. “Love, please...”

The words jolted through Anders and he blinked, thoughts of templars scattering under the wide, concerned gaze of Fenris. The elf swallowed, the endearment obviously having slipped out. “Say it again...” Anders whispered.

“Love...come here,” the words came out haltingly. Ears flushed pink and quivering slightly, Fenris tugged Anders across the seat to press against him. “They will not touch you.”

Settled against his elf, mostly sprawled across the seat, Anders pressed his face tightly to Fenris' neck and inhaled. “Do you really?”

“What a question,” Fenris fussed slightly, glancing down when Bun stood up and rested her front paws on his knee. “Even Bun thinks it is a silly question.”

Anders glanced down, smiling at the cat that had, up till then, been happily sleeping down between his feet. “Sorry I bothered you, Bun.”

The mrrp of catly forgiveness was followed by a slight huff from Fenris, “You will relax. And when we get to the Inn, we shall bathe. A bath always helps to calm you.”

“A bath does sound wonderful,” Hawke's voice was wistful, though it was hard to tell whether it was because of the thought of the bath or the declaration of love. She glanced once at Isabela and sighed softly.

Isabela, eyes on her lover, bit her lip. “How about I make sure we have plenty of hot water and order us food?”

Perking up, Hawke turned a pressed a kiss to Isabela’s cheek, “That would be wonderful. Amazingly wonderful. I’ll get a message sent out to Tallis and then we can all take some time to unwind, wash the salt off our skin, and have a hot meal.”

Scrunching up her nose at the name Tallis, Isabela purred and tugged Hawke closer, “Why not wait till tomorrow to send your message? Hmm?”

“Oh Izzy, the sooner the message is sent the sooner she can meet up and we can leave,” Hawke laughed a bit, not catching the flash of irritation in Isabela’s eyes. “Right? Why stay too long?”

“Long enough to shop tomorrow, yes?” Anders’ shared a look with Fenris, both of them having seen the expression on Isabela’s face. “Izzy, want to go shopping with me tomorrow? I know Fenris wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“You are correct, mage,” Fenris tripped over the pet name, struggling still with his little outburst earlier. “I would feel better knowing Anders has somebody with him. I could stay and wait with Hawke.”

“Think Varric would want to come?” Anders was desperately trying to keep Isabela focused on something other than this other elf. He had never seen his friend look so morose and angry all at once – he was mildly afraid murder would happen in Val Royeaux if he didn’t step in. “The three of us could go look at silly hats and pretty corsets.”

With a look that clearly said she knew what he was doing, Isabela settled back in the seat and pretended to think about it. “I suppose shopping would be more fun than sitting in some stuffy Inn.” Her eyes widened, “They have some amazing toy shops here.”

“Toy…shops?” Hawke sat up at that, voice confused. “What do you mean by toy shops?”

“Mm…that sell sex toys of course.” Eyebrows waggling, Isabela lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Fun things. Dare to go with me, Anders?”

He was very careful to not look at Fenris, afraid of what he’d find on his elf’s face, “Ah…yes. Actually yes. I would like to go. That sounds…yes.” He squawked a bit as fingers pinched at the skin just above the thigh-high stockings. “I can think of a few things to get…what Fenris?”

“Things?” clearly Fenris was less than excited about the entire idea, face set in a disapproving frown. “Like what?”

“Do you trust me?” It wasn’t a challenge but a simple question. “Do you?”

“Of course,” the words were sputtered.

“Then let me go with Isabela. I promise to only pick up things you would enjoy using on me.” The words were followed with a kiss to one lyrium-lined cheek.

Fenris pondered the words and the idea of his mage coming back to the room with bedroom toys. “How do you know about these toys?”

“Remember when I told you I worked in a brothel?” Anders ignored Hawke’s jerk of surprise, “Ah…well…corsets weren’t the only thing I learned how to handle.” Isabela burst out into bright laughter at the words. “Er…not necessarily…I mean to say…”

“You should really let him try that electricity trick on you,” Isabela teased. “And you should tell Anya how it’s done, Anders.”

“Oh well…that’s simple enough. If you’re interested.” Anders grinned at Hawke’s expression, “We had a lot of time in the Circle to…re-purpose some spells. I knew a mage who could use a glyph of holding and an ice spell that could…well…haha.”

“Mage,” Fenris groused. “You are not to try that on me.”

“Of course not! I would never use magic on you without permission – the odd healing spell notwithstanding. I mean, if you’re bleeding out I’m going to heal you…or if you get those back knots again…or…oh...” Anders blinked as strong fingers turned his face and angled it down, Fenris shaking his head.

“I can hear your prurient thoughts, Isabela, and you should keep them to yourself,” Fenris growled a moment before he kissed Anders, silencing him.

“Oh well...isn't that a pretty picture,” Isabela murmured to Hawke. Hawke rolled her eyes but had to agree, Anders and Fenris did make quite the striking couple.

Fenris' mind turned over the entire “public display” problem, combined it with the “don’t usually enjoy all this touching” and smooshed those together with “but the mage was his and he wanted to cuddle” conundrum. He finally decided he would just yank out the heart of anybody who dared to comment and settled, the idea of solving all ridicule and poking with violence helping him to come to terms with the fact that he did, indeed, enjoy making sure people knew Anders belonged to him.

Breaking the kiss, he tugged his mage close to him, “You were blathering, mage. Quiet, let us simply sit here and relax.”

Anders hummed happily, content to rest his head first on Fenris' shoulder and then on his lap as he curled up on the carriage seat to nap. Bun took the opportunity to leap up, curling into a ball between Anders' hip and the seat back. Fingers brushing through blond hair, Fenris stared out the window and relaxed, blocking out the murmurs coming from Isabela and Hawke.

He loved this mage...this man...and had nearly said the declaration out loud in a carriage. The endearment was...what it was. But the words, the sentiment, he would wait to express. For when the time was right.

***

The carriage slowed and then stopped, a broad city wall visible from the windows. There was a moment of sitting, some yelling from the driver, and then the carriage started back up again. Hawke stuck her head out, yelling at Varric to see what the hold-up was. More words and then she was pulling her head back inside.

“Apparently a pear vendor cut off a silk merchant and there were words being spoken,” Hawke said on a shrug. “We should be at the Inn in a few minutes.”

“Good, because I want that bath,” Anders said sitting up, dislodging Bun and wrapping Fenris in his arms, nuzzling his very amused elf. “And I bet Bun would like to nap on a real bed again.”

“So bathing and rest and then we meet in the tavern downstairs for food?” Hawke grabbed the door as the carriage turned, wending its way further into the city.

“Sounds good to me,” Isabela agreed.

Silence took over as everybody watched the scenery, the city of Val Royeaux living up to the rumors of opulence. The streets were paved in precisely cut stone, the buildings immaculate with flower boxes and ornate statues, and the people were ostentatious in their dress. As the carriage moved from the front gates towards the city center, the buildings grew more ornate and the clothing more outrageous. A few turns and the carriage moved away from the higher markets to the lower markets situated near the second city gate. Here the buildings were plainer, the clothing more serviceable, but everything was still tidy.

Coming to a stop, the door to the carriage was pulled open by a young elf who bowed and gestured, words coming first in Orlesian and then in Common, “Welcome to the Trailing Violets Inn.”

“I knew it had something to do with violets,” Hawke murmured as she stepped down. “Well, let’s all try not to be too much like a bunch of turnips, yes?”

They all chuckled at that and headed inside.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping in Val Royeaux with Isabela, Varric, and Anders.
> 
> Lingerie, Flirty Varric...an adult toy shop...
> 
> I don't know if Fenris is going to kill Anders or propose marriage when he sees what Anders buys...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to Penbrydd for his always invaluable aid.

“So how do you know the shops around here?” Anders was glancing up and down the tidy street just outside of their inn. The buildings were all beautiful stained stucco and graced with small window boxes and trailing ivy. The street itself was narrow and cobbled, large enough to fit a carriage down but definitely not a main thoroughfare. The inn’s courtyard was set back behind a graceful stone wall, arches opening into the circular drive. Isabela glanced back at the inn, a look of contemplation crossing her face before a smile took hold.

“Now handsome, you know I’ve been everywhere. And done everything,” her wink was teasing.

“The stories you tell, Rivaini,” Varric drawled, moving up to stand next to Anders. He gave a low whistle, “Looking good there, Blondie.”

“Varric, you’ll make me blush,” Anders straightened the black robe and brushed at the blacker feathers. “We’re in Val Royeaux, I felt it necessary to make a statement.”

“And that statement was what?” Varric was eying that slit and wondering if it was too early to find some ale. “I’m glad I brought Bianca. I’d hate to think what would happen if we let you wander around alone looking like that.”

A flush started creeping up Anders’ cheeks, blooming across his face, “Varric, do we need to talk about some unrequited feelings? Best to do that here – not near Fenris.”

“Blondie, if I decide I am going to start chasing human men, I’ll let you know.” Something wicked flashed in the dwarf’s eyes and Anders swallowed at the predatory smile. “I’d give Broody a run for his money.”

Laughing, Isabela slid her arm around Anders’ waist and squeezed, “Come on you two. There are shops to visit and fun little toys to purchase.”

“Sweet Maker,” Anders muttered as he was led down the street. “Maybe I should have left you two at the Inn and brought Fenris?”

“Growling is generally considered anti-social. Plus, this is Val Royeaux. How many times do you think Broody can be called knife-ear before he plunges a fist into somebody’s chest?” Varric glanced up at Anders.

“You…have a point there. So where are we going again?” This was directed at Isabela.

“Mm, two streets over is a lovely lingerie shop. And then one block up from that is a delicious, ah, toy shop.” Isabela hummed. “And we can stop in at a café nearby for a pick-me-up after.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Isabela,” Anders patted her hand. “So…first shop. Lingerie. Let’s see which of us can make Varric blush first.”

“Oh…you’re on,” Isabela said with a laugh. “My money is on me. Of course.”

“I don’t know, Rivaini,” Varric drawled, “Anders pulls out some sorta silky smalls and I may just melt into the floor.”

The three of them laughed, though Anders wondered if they had some of those pretty embroidered smalls he liked so much. Fenris was, after all, very hard on his clothing.

***

“And these are the latest in Orlesian fashion,” The saleswoman gestured at a tiered table holding a rainbow of silky smalls. Anders picked up a pair in a sinfully bright red and blinked. They were made from wispy thin silk, were cut to sit high on the leg, and had a thin silken cord for the back. He tucked his tongue in his cheek and held them in front of him, eyes on Varric.

“Thoughts?” the word was spoken with false innocence.

Varric started coughing, face flaming nearly purple. Isabela tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “Too red for you, Handsome.”

“I have to agree. You would do better in these.” The salewoman picked up a pair in champagne.

“Oh these would go so well with my gold corset. Yes. Do you perhaps have any in ivory? What about just black? That would match several of my new outfits. Including this one.” Anders put down the red smalls and fingered a pair in emerald green.

“Andraste preserve me,” Varric muttered. “Can you even…you know…wear those? Comfortably?”

“Oh, do not be concerned. We sell these in a men’s cut as well. They are quite fashionable under the tight pants so popular this season. Though your robe, Ser, is a true work of art. Should you visit the high market and take a stroll, you will cause quite the stir,” The saleswoman gestured to a table on the other side of the store. “The men’s wear is over there. I try to cater to both genders – makes my store more profitable, no?”

“You are a gem, dear lady,” Anders offered her a slight bow and practically skipped to the other table to peruse the offerings. The smalls were just as colorful, all in the silky fabric with no back. “Fenris will die a small death when he sees me in these.”

“I need a drink,” Varric muttered as Anders waved a black pair at him. “Maybe two...”

“Do you have stockings to match?” Anders ignored Varric in favor of shopping. “And...ah...can you show me what you have in chemises and corsets?”

“You, my dear man, are a treasure. Come with me. I'm sure I have something over here that will astound you,” The saleswoman gestured to the back of the store, steering Anders towards more tables laden with silken finery.

Isabela and Varric exchanged a look, “I believe he's about to out shop me in the lingerie store...” Isabela was gawking slightly.

“I still need a drink,” Varric mutter, flushing redder when Anders picked up a pair of dainty lace-topped stockings with what appeared to be flowers embroidered down the back. “And this is just store number one...Maker protect me.”

***

Three stores later and Anders and Isabela had their arms filled with wrapped packages. Isabela was snickering at Anders, teasing him about the last store they had gone into. “Oh come on, if you had let that man feel up your leg you would have gotten your precious herbs cheaper.”

“For the last time, I am not letting every strange Orlesian male feel me up. That goes double for the women. Sweet Andraste, that hat shop owner was persistent.” Anders balanced his packages and straightened his robe. “Thank you for stopping in to that leather shop. I think this is the oil Fenris prefers for his armor.”

“You're something else, Blondie. Did you buy all that froufrou stuff for you or for Fenris?” Varric bumped Anders' hip and caught some of the packages as they fell. The dwarf chuckled as his friend flushed and stammered. “I swear, Anders, you act the part of the flustered maiden quite well.”

“Shit,” the word muttered under Anders' breath. He stumbled to a stop next to Isabela, glanced through the window of the next shop, and exhaled “Shit...” this time in embarrassment.

“Coming in?” hips swaying suggestively, Isabela pushed open the door. “Last shop and then a break. You come in and purchase something, and I'll spring for food.”

“Come on Blondie, what's one more embarrassing shop?” placing a hand at Anders' back, Varric shoved him through the door.

And into a shop filled with every sex toy a person could think of. Anders glanced around, mind gibbering at the possibilities. Where did he start? What would Fenris prefer the most?

Isabela had migrated over to a counter holding an array of hand-carved stone dildos. Even from across the shop, Anders could see the intricate details on each one. He made a note to head over to the display before he left. But first...ah...first...yes.

A display of chains and small clamps.

Thirty minutes later and Anders had his hands full of various sex toys and Varric was falling asleep in a chair. Isabela was discussing with one salesperson the differences between two leather harnesses. Anders was holding up a string glass beads, watching each bead catch the light. The beads were smooth and graduated from small to large enough to make his head spin a bit, all held together by a knotted silken cord. They came in a variety of colors.

“Varric? Hey Varric...oh...” Anders stopped before he woke up his friend, turning back to the display. A few minutes of eenie meenie miney moe and Anders placed a set of delicate blue beads on his pile of toys.

“Will that be all, Ser?” An elf had appeared behind the counter. “And might I say, your outfit is amazing.”

“Oh...um. Yes. And thank you.” Anders patted at his robes, turned to look at Varric, and went to pat his friend's pockets for his coin pouch.

Varric woke to Anders' hands patting at his pants and jerked up, “Wazzit?”

“Coin?” Anders was bent down, smiling into his friend's face. “Sorry.”

“Blondie, I don't know if you should apologize or buy me dinner. You keep patting my leg like that and we'll have things to explain to Fenris,” Varric smirked a tiny bit at the flush creeping over Anders' cheeks.

“I really should ask again if there's something you need to tell me,” Anders straightened, his coin pouch in his hand.

Varric simply smiled and leaned back in the chair, smile widening as Anders backed away from him. He shook his head, watching his friend purchase a small pile of items that Varric figured he could work into the next story he did. It was inordinately good to see the mage happy, healthy, and flirty. And Varric was willing to put up with a little personal discomfort if his friends were all happy.

Silly, disfunctional family – the lot of them.

He waited for Isabela and Anders to finish up and then stood, stretched, and meandered towards the door of the shop. “Well Rivaini, I figure you owe me a couple drinks and some food. Pay up.”

“You've earned it, Varric,” Isabela grinned, turning to eyeball all of Anders’ purchases. “And you, look at all of your packages. What's Fenris going to say?”

“I'm more concerned about him ripping my new smalls.” Anders was having a clear vision of that silk cord being shredded by Fenris. He sighed. “I bought a couple extra pairs just in case.”

“So is that how you got your new wardrobe? Broody tore the old one to shreds?” Varric grabbed a few more packages from Anders, watching as Anders bit his lip. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“Can we just go get some food? I'm starving,” the words were all whined and an obvious attempt to change the subject.

“Hey, if you're going to eat, we're going to go get food. And then it's back to the Inn for a nap. My feet are killing me,” Varric followed Isabela down the street to a small cafe.

Where they ordered fresh bread, stinky cheese, copious amounts of wine, and relaxed in the sun.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders shows Fenris what was purchased...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two just keep getting sweeter. It's...adorable. And fluffy. And smutty - yes.

“Did you have fun with Hawke,” Anders’ voice drifted from around the dressing screen.

Lounging back on the bed, Fenris pondered the best way to answer that question. “The day was slow. We sent the message and then coordinated a time to meet with this elf tomorrow. It will be at some High Market cafe. No idea why. Then we sat and I drank wine. I should have gone with you. After seeing the amount of packages you brought back, I am most certain I should have gone with you.”

“You would have been bored. We went to so many stores.” Anders peeked out from behind the screen and shot his lover a grin. “Ready to see?”

“Venhedis, I have been bored all day. And now you wish to model clothing when we could be doing much more interesting things,” Some of those interesting things involved Anders on the bed, naked, and making those breathy moans Fenris could wring out of him.

“I think you’ll be happy with this,” the words were said right as Anders moved around the screen and into the room. Fenris blinked and then inhaled sharply as the blood rushed from one head to the other.

A slender gold chain connecting new gold nipple rings was the only ornamentation on his mage's chest. The rest of him was bare except for a pair of silk smalls and black silk stockings. Anders turned and Fenris sat up and leaned forward, choking when he saw that the smalls had no back and the stockings had a vine embroidered up the back in a vivid green.

One minute the elf was on the bed, the next he was pressed to Anders’ chest and growling.

“Not the smalls!” Anders laughed, grappling with Fenris. “I just got them…Fen!” The elf’s name was sorta screamed as the mage found himself propelled to the bed and fairly thrown on it.

Instead of the fancy new smalls, Fenris shredded his own tunic. He didn’t even stop, even when Anders let out a laugh. The tunic was shredded, the leggings were pulled off and almost destroyed. And then the elf was on his lover, pressing close, nipping sharply at the long line of pale neck.

“These are maddening. You will not wear them under your robes,” Fenris pinned Anders down, voice a low growl. “Mine.”

“Fen,” Anders tugged at the hands holding his wrists to the bed. “I bought them to wear.”

Fenris' response was a deep, punishing kiss. Teeth scraped over lips followed by the rasp of tongue. Anders' mouth was pried open and plundered, the elf molding himself to the mage. Wrenching his mouth away, Fenris stared at Anders with slightly wild eyes. “You drive me to the brink of insanity, mage.”

“Is this where I apologize or say thank you?” Anders kept his tone light, his body loose and limp. “Fenris, my love, I will wear them under my robes. And you can watch me walk knowing that I wear them for you and you only.”

Biting his lip, Fenris closed his eyes and tried to relax. “I am sorry. I...”

“Mm, was carried away by how glorious I look, yes. But I didn't get to show you the rest of what I bought,” Anders finally managed to slide his hands from Fenris' grasp and wrapped them around the elf, cuddling. “Though I don't mind snuggling with you.”

The feeling of hands on his skin – of Anders' hands on his skin – made Fenris relax. Made his muscles loosen and the buzzing of anxiety ease. Pressed against his lover, against the man Fenris loved...not just a mage, not just his lover...but the man he loved, Fenris let the madness recede a little. “It is hard,” he admitted quietly, “when I have never had anything and now I have you. Hard to let you do as you will.”

Understanding filled Anders, understanding and a little twinge of pain. “Because you always worry that something or somebody will take it away.”

“Yes.” Such a simple agreement.

“Only you, Fen,” Anders whispered. “I want nobody else. And I'll keep saying it. I don't mind saying it.”

The smile slid up Fenris' face, lips curling and small lines crinkling at the corners of eyes. “You had a lot of packages. Care to show me what else you purchased?”

“Oh well...now that you mentioned it,” fingers danced over the skin of Fenris' back. “I think I would. But you'll have to let me up.”

Rolling off his mage, Fenris moved up on the bed, propping himself up on the pillows. “I assume you purchased more of those sinful smalls?”

“Mm, and a new corset. And stockings.” Anders slid from the bed and went to rummage. He glanced back at the bed and then bent at the waist, swinging his hips lazily. The chuff of laughter made him grin, made him shimmy his hips instead of simply swinging. “Maker, I should have bought a belled belt. A proper shimmy requires bells.”

Another chuff of amusement, “And some scarves? Mm?” Fenris sounded appropriately interested. “I shall endeavor to find you such a belt, love. At the very least, a bell would allow me to find you when we are home.”

“Oh now...” Anders swung around and moved back to the bed. “That's just not right.”

“Mm..but humorous all the same. What is that?” Fenris eyed the bottle in Anders' hands.

“Oil for your armor. I thought it looked like what you normally use – the stuff we have to special order?” He held out the bottle, watching with some trepidation as Fenris opened and smelled the contents.

“It is. This is...you thought of me while you were out?” Armor polish wasn't anything romantic, but knowing his mage had to specifically go into a leather worker's to purchase it, had to describe the oil to the shop owner, had to remember what Fenris used even though Anders never used it or ordered it...well...Fenris felt his heart swell a bit. “Thank you.”

Flushed and happy, Anders crawled onto the bed, a satin bag in his hands. “And these are the other purchases I made. Well, I bought some herbs. Just in case, you understand. But these...these are for us.”

Opening the bag, Anders started pulling out the toys he purchased: chains in varying sizes, a stone dildo, a jar of sweet-smelling oil, a blindfold, and the glass beads.

Out of the entire pile, Fenris touched the blindfold first. “I thought...”

“I looked at these silk restraints. They would have been easy to get out of but I...I couldn't. But the blindfold...I think....” blowing out a breath, Anders settled. “I trust you, Fen. We could try it. Worst thing that happens is I hate it.”

Sliding to his knees, Fenris leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Anders' lips. “You would only have to say stop and I'd stop. I promise.”

“I know,” Anders pressed his forehead to Fenris'. “I know. Mm..now I'm sure you can figure out what this is.” Anders tapped the stone dildo. “I thought for...you know...when you're trailing your fingers through me...”

“Mm...I can see uses for it, yes.” Fenris tapped the chains.

“Ahh...for my rings. If you...if you wanted to...decorate me.” A flush was starting to curl up Anders' body, surging over his chest and collarbone. He cleared his throat and tapped the jar. “I was told that this smelled delicious and tasted good too.”

“As if I need something to make you taste better,” scoffed Fenris. Still, he picked up the jar, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed. The smell of vanilla wafted out. “You will smell like a sugar cake.”

Fenris had an unreasonable love of sugar cakes.

“Oh well...” Anders swallowed at the intensity in Fenris' eyes. “Goodie for me.”

“And for me. And these?” The beads were picked up and held out.

“Ahh...you ah...well, insert them. Inside. And as I orgasm you pull them out. One by one.” the explanation was a little breathy, Anders' skin fully flushed and eyes glazing.

“No gag?” The beads were slowly lowered to the bed, green eyes watching as his mage shifted.

“Will we need one?” The question was filled with nervous energy.

“I don't know. Shall we find out?” The elf pounced, pinning his mage to the bed and kissing him breathless. Anders' laughed into the kiss, the laughter turning into a gasp as those lips slid over and down to bite at his pulse. “Yes...I think we should find out right now...”

***

A gag would have been a good purchase, Anders thought wildly as he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His hands were gripping the headboard, the blindfold brushing against his nose and pressing lightly over his eyes. Fenris was lazing licking down his body. Maddening, Anders thought desperately. It was maddening.

Fenris had been gentle, no harsh bites, no bruising. Those beautiful green eyes had watched Anders closely as he was told to grip the cast-iron headboard. And then the blindfold had gone on and there had been a brief moment of panic, Justice welling up only to be soothed by gentle murmurs and the stroke of a lyrium-lined hand.

Soothing Anders further, Fenris had straddled his mage's hips and had proceeded to nibble and lick every patch of skin from neck to waist. And Anders wasn't sure he was going to survive it.

The smooth glide of oil over his cock had him keening, the keening turning to gibbering when a tongue slid from base to tip. “You taste like a sugar cake. This is...” words were cut off as Fenris slid his mouth down the long, hard length.

Grip tightening around the wrought iron, Anders bit his lip again and thought it was a good thing he was a healer or he'd have to explain why his mouth was bruised and bloody. Fingers brushed over his sac, then lower, teasing and pressing the sensitive skin that sat lower. The fingers slid into him and Anders gave shout, his orgasm hitting hard and suddenly.

Fenris didn't stop sucking and licking, his tongue trailing lazily up and down Anders' length until he grew hard again. There was a murmur of approval and then nothing...no sensation...for a minute. Turning his head, Anders felt the panic start to swell.

“Fenris?” Anders' voice shivered.

“Shh,” The reassuring squeeze of a hand against his thigh calmed the mage. The covers rustled and then the blindfold was removed and his hands were slowly uncurled from the headboard. Strong fingers massaged over his shoulders, kisses pressed over his face. “Are you good to keep going?”

“Ahh...yes. Yes I am...what...” Anders babbled a bit, his elf offering the pot of oil to Anders. “What?”

“I wish to...I wish for you to...” Fenris flushed, the tips of his ears turning red. He lay down on his stomach and glanced over at Anders. “Please. I wish to try.”

“Are you sure?” Anders sat up and smoothed a hand down Fenris' back. “We don't have to...”

“If it is too much, we will stop. But this is something I want to do with you. Something I can take back from Danarius. Please Anders.” The words were quiet, earnest. “Here where it is not the mansion..not something...that reminds me.”

“Alright,” Anders pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Fenris' neck. “We'll take it slow.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut and Fluff and more fluff and cuddles
> 
> ::smooshes the guys together:: They are being so sweet. I'm almost afraid to move them from this room.

Lips traveled from neck to feet, licking and nibbling over every inch of skin. The lyrium lines were reverently kissed, the word “beautiful” murmured repeatedly. When every inch of skin had been worshiped, every line praised, Anders grabbed the jar of oil, poured a little out, and started smoothing it into Fenris' back.

Long sweeps down the skin only to press back up on either side of the spine, thumbs finding knots and tangles and working them out with slow, circular presses. Kneading and smoothing and soothing until Fenris was limp and moaning, too relaxed to flinch at the touch of fingers over his skin, too comfortable to mind the weight against his back. Only when he was loose and limber did Anders slowly roll him over. And began again from his feet back up his body.

The kiss was languid, a melding of tongues and lips and breath, half-understood words of praise and love as lips trailed down the tattoos from chin to neck and neck to chest. Lips that slid over a nipple, sucking and licking, biting gently and then harder. Smiling at the feeling of hands tangled in blond hair, the jerk of hips, the pleas to stop the teasing.

Those lips finally trailed down over Fenris' cock, tongue lapping at the broad head. Hands that gently spread thighs, kisses that continued down, over sensitive inner thighs, and further, Fenris gasping and moaning as Anders lavished kisses and licks over every inch of skin.

“Please,” Fenris whimpered. “Please...”

“Shh,” was the crooned response. The only response as Anders dipped his head to take in Fenris and press one finger into the elf. Slowly opening him, pausing often to gaze up, to make sure that his lover was still there with him and not lost in some forgotten memory. But Fenris was there, gripping the sheets, head canted back, and panting. Beautiful, Anders thought. So beautiful.

The glide of fingers was replaced with the stretch of Anders' cock. A breathless moment of pressure and pain and then Fenris was digging his heels into Anders' back and the mage was trying to remember how to breathe. Gazing down into wide, green eyes, Anders couldn't think of when this act had ever been more intimate, more filled with tenderness and love. And his heart constricted even as his body surged forward, moving in long, slow thrusts that left Fenris writhing and whimpering, digging nails into Anders' back and keening his name.

The orgasm swelled and crested, a slow pulse of heat that left both men clinging to each other, shaking and shaken. As Anders cradled his lover to his chest the only words he could think were “I love him.” Words he still couldn't quite say, though perhaps everything that had just happened conveyed them more strongly than a simple declaration could.

He had fallen completely in love with the grumpy, broody, difficult elf. And if he hadn't seen the same emotion gazing at him from Fenris' eyes, he would have felt fear. But Fenris was nuzzling against his chest, a smile pulling at his lips.

“That was...” wonder was in each word. “That was amazing.”

“No bad memories?” Anders rolled them so as not to crush his elf. “No...no problems?”

“Only at the beginning, only for a little bit. The massage was...it was all...” Fenris tried to cuddle closer. “I have never been that way with another.”

The truth of the words, the meaning, hit Anders like an ogre. Never. Willingly. But with him. Tears welled and he closed his eyes to keep from crying, to try to hold back to knowledge that he had been Fenris' first. Truly.

“You haven't ever wanted to?” the words were a bit damp.

“With who? And when? I was so busy running from Danarius. So busy just surviving. There was nobody I wished to be with. I...I tried being with a woman or two but...” Fenris sighed.

“Why me?” The words were whispered, Anders having to clear his throat.

“Mage,” Fondness in that word, so much love too, “I do not think it could have been anybody else.”

***

Blowing a bubble across the tub, Anders lounged back and purred. “Think we can take the tub home?”

The tub in question was easily three times the size of Fenris’ – deep and long enough to stretch out in. How Fenris had managed to get the room with the giant tub was probably best left untouched. Anders was just glad they had gotten it and not Isabela and Hawke.

“I doubt it would fit on the ship,” was the amused response. “I can tell you are wondering why we have it and not Hawke. Hawke thought it amusing to give us the honeymoon suite.”

“Oh well that’s just…explains the chocolate covered strawberries actually.” Anders glanced at the table. “Wait…so that means…”

“The Innkeeper sent well wished to us via Hawke and hopes our brief stay in Val Royeaux is romantic. I believe Hawke told him we are traveling onward on our honeymoon.” Fenris actually laughed at the disconcerted look on Anders’ face. “I am fairly certain that this Innkeeper will die a small death when he sees that the elf he was required to serve today is, indeed, the one sleeping in his fancy room.”

“If having an elf in here is bad, what would it do to him to find out I’m an apostate?” Anders slid lower into the water and made happy noises. “Not that I care, of course.”

“Hmm,” was all Fenris said. He watched his mage flounder around in the water before leaning forward and tapping one knee. “You should be next to me, not over there splashing like a fish.”

“Oh well…” pleased laughter accompanied more splashing as Anders moved, snuggling up against his elf with a sigh.

“Mage,” there was hesitation in the word, a pregnant pause as Fenris exhaled and fidgeted, “I would have you know that I wish we could…that is to say…”

“Fenris,” Anders’ voice held a note of teasing, “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Fasta vass, mage blather. Always mage blather. Are you never serious?” Fenris groused, more because he could. There was a sick twisting in the pit of his stomach, a jolt of nauseous adrenalin that made his heart pound and acid wash into his throat. Swallowing reflexively, the elf tried to gather his thoughts. “Are you done with the ridiculousness?”

Curiosity and trepidation coiled in Anders’ eyes as he nodded, his hands twisting. Fenris exhaled and tried again, “This room was a bit of teasing on the part of Hawke. But it has made me think about how we can never…I am an elf and a slave…”

“And I’m a possessed apostate,” Anders crinkled his nose. “We aren’t even allowed to have children, you know. Not possessed apostates but mages in general. Well…possessed anybody shouldn’t…hmph…” Anders huffed a breath and gritted his teeth as blue skittered over his skin. “Shit.”

“Is Justice giving you problems?” A hand cupped Anders’ cheek, fingers soothing.

“He’s just ranting about the injustice of elves, slaves, and mages. It’s an all-purpose rant. It’s rather too bad I don’t have paper at the moment.” Anders’ voice grew pre-occupied, his head tilting as his mind spun out arguments against slavery…against slavery and mages…and against penalizing people because of how they were born.

“Mage,” Fenris pinched Anders’ cheek, drawing a sharp gasp, “Focus.”

“Sorry…sorry. Justice feels just as strongly about the plight of slaves as he does about the plight of mages. If we weren’t already trying to free the Circles, we’d be waging war on the Imperium.” The look and words were sheepish.

“Wage war on the…fool mage,” Fenris shook his head, finding himself unaccountable touched. “Anders…”

“Fenris, you don’t need to say it. I know,” those honey-brown eyes were so warm, so emotion-filled.

Fenris pursed his lips, fighting for patience, “I do need to say it. That I cannot, that I fumble with my words…it is…unacceptable.”

“It’s ok,”

“No…you are important. You matter. And I will be by your side no matter what comes,” Fenris slumped as the words left him, exhausted and twisted up into knots. “You are a mage and yet you are more. How can I…you deserve to know.”

“You matter too, Fenris. Never think otherwise,” tears clouded Anders’ eyes. “I never thought…to love was something you just didn’t do. Couldn’t do. It gave…it gave the templars too much power over you. To know there was somebody they could use against you. Emotions were kept chained. Everything was just…fleeting. Not since Karl…”

“Shh…” Fenris moved, straddling Anders’ legs and settling himself against his mage’s chest. “Shh, Anders.”

“Not since Karl have I felt like this,” Anders wrapped his arms tightly around his elf and sighed. His stomach interrupted the moment by growling, causing Fenris to chuckle.

“We should finish and dress, go down and get food,” There was a lightness in the words. A sense of settling, of words spoken and emotions acknowledged. “You wardens and your appetites.”

“You should have seen the larder back at Vigil’s Keep. Whole rows of hams and shelves of cheese,” Anders gave a laugh. “I spent a week sneaking in at every opportunity, cramming my face with anything I could grab. Maker, but the Joining is terrible and then leaves you like a bottomless pit.”

“And then you came to Kirkwall and barely ate,” Fenris reached for the soap, rubbing the bar over Anders’ chest. The smell of bay rum filled the room. “Foolish mage…”

“Mm…Justice still doesn’t quite understand about meal time. But he respects your desire to take care of me,” Anders lifted an arm for Fenris. “You do…take care of me.”

“Somebody needs to,” his elf smoothed suds up his arm. “You do not take care of yourself.”

“I’m glad it’s you,” the words were sincere.

Ears twitching and pinking, Fenris ducked his head and moved to soap Anders’ other arm, “I am too, mage. I am too.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous Outfits
> 
> Lunch in Val Royeaux's High Market
> 
> Tallis makes an appearance - much to Fenris & Isabela's annoyance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - I was so excited about the outfit descriptions that I only gave this a once over and am posting it. So ignore any GLARING ERRORS IN GRAMMAR AND SPELLING!
> 
> Also - Varric is sneaky sneaky sneaky...

The High Market in Val Royeaux is located in the heart of the city, the jewel of the Capital. Brightly colored streamers and flowers festoon the stalls and shops and planter beds filled with more flowers and trimmed trees edge the broad avenues. Sidewalks of carefully placed stone host a crowd that is comprised of the higher echelons of Orlesian society and their elven servants. Everyone who is anyone shops there while dressed in the height of fashion and sporting elaborate masks. And over the market place bustle, the Grand Chantry soars – a monument of lightly pinked rough marble, graceful archways, and jewel-colored windows. The Chant pours from it, golden and glorious – raining down on the nobles below. A counterpoint to the Game being played out in careful machinations.

Knowing that they were going into the very center of Orlesian society, Hawke and her friends had dressed appropriately.

Isabela and Hawke had chosen elaborate day dresses in the pastel tones currently being favored. The green crepe de chine of Hawke's dress was delicately embroidered in ivory, each stitch trailing over the high, fitted bodice to the wider skirts to form dripping vines and tiny flowers. Isabela's gown mirrored Hawke's except in a pale pink with ivory embroidered tree branches and leaves.

Varric had shown up in a summer-weight wool, his jacket a vivid blue over a fine ivory lawn shirt tucked into fitted black trousers. Brass buttons were fastened up the jacket with just enough left open to show off tufts of chest hair. He had Bianca on his back, as usual, and she was polished to a high shine.

All three were at a table in the barroom of the Inn when Fenris and Anders finally arrived. It had taken some discussion, but Fenris had finally agreed to wear one of his new outfits instead of his armor. The black leggings were sleek and form fitting. The chosen high-necked tunic was in a deep blue with black frogging along the high-necked flared collar and cuffs. Cut with military lines, the tunic skimmed his slender frame and was belted with a black sash. Anders had gibbered slightly when he had adjusted the cuffs of the tunic and Fenris' ears had heated. Whether it was from the praise or Anders' outfit, he couldn't tell.

Anders had matched Fenris in one of his corset-cinched robes. The long line of black silk cinched snugly around his chest and waist and ended in a draping midnight blue skirt. Every step had shown off the knee-high black leather boots and hints of sheer silk stockings. If Anders had gibbered a bit at Fenris' outfit, well, Fenris had wondered if it was possible to skip lunch and unwrap his lover. All that dark fabric made Anders' skin glow.

Varric had seen the guys first and let out a low whistle, his eyes lingering first on Anders and then Fenris. “Broody...I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Venhedis, dwarf. We will not prattle about my outfit,” Fenris growled, quieting when Anders slid his fingers over the back of his hand.

“I think we should head out before we have an incident. I’d like to get this lunch over with,” Hawke tugged lightly at the collar of her dress.

“Mm…get lunch over with so I can bring you back and untie you…well, most of you. That lovely number you have on underneath this gown is…delicious,” Isabela purred, pressing close to her lover and brushing lips over one cheek. “You are so beautiful.”

“Oh Izzy,” Hawke exhaled, eyes dewy, “You are too.”

Curling an arm around Hawke’s slender waist, Isabela leaned close to whisper in one ear, “Why not come back and you unwrap me?”

“Sweet Maker, can we go before you two decide to get naked in the bar?” Anders fidgeted, smoothing his skirt. “I’m starving.”

Varric chuckled, “Come on Hawke. Now who’s creating a scene?”  
Smiling happily, Hawke hummed and winked at Varric, “Oh…alright. Lunch in the snooty High Market. But we’ll eat dinner here tonight. Wicked Grace and drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan, beautiful,” Varric agreed, “A spot on plan.”

***

A carriage whisked them off to a small cafe set near a tidy park. The cafe itself seemed unremarkable, tables arranged on a broad veranda so the diners could watch the crowd or gaze on the garden, but the location was stellar. It was near the wide central courtyard that led to the Chantry. Seated at their table, the group could watch the slow processional of Chantry Sisters, the tight lines of a group of templar, and the flocks of faithful heading to worship.

“All that clanking is going to put me off my lunch,” Anders groused.

“The snarl the server is giving me is going to result in bloodshed,” Fenris growled. He narrowed his eyes as the starchy older man who had seated them. The man returned the look and then sniffed, turning up his nose. “One more “knife-ear” comment and I will murder the lot of them.”

“I still can’t believe they tried to not seat you.” Anders turned his eyes to the server and pursed his lips. The server took that seriously, rushing over to fawn over him.

“Does Messere require something extra? A new glass? A bottle of wine?” The fawning was becoming a bit much. “And may I say thank you for eating with us? Your outfit it is…how do I say it? Ravishing? You are catching the eye of every person in the square!”

“Delightful,” Anders muttered. “Two bottles of Tevinter red. Not Antivan. Tevinter. I’ll know the difference.”

“Very good, yes. And you are sure that you wish your servant to…gak!” The server was cut off by Fenris reaching up and gripping him around his neck.

“Fenris, release the half-wit please,” Hawke’s voice was calm. “Ser, you insult us by insulting him. Either quit or we leave.”

“And I’ll say naughty things about your place,” Anders threw out, tapping fingers on the table. “And I still don’t have my wine. Oh! And some of those little cakes you all are so famous for. What are they? Petit fours? We want a platter.”

“Very good,” The server glared slightly at Fenris, bowed to Anders, and oozed off.

“I am going to rip out his throat,” Fenris muttered, quieting when Anders’ entwined their fingers. “Thank you for ordering wine.”

“Mm…the least I could do. Horrible man. Justice is about ready to burn this entire place to the ground. And the Chantry is giving me a headache. Why did we come to this particular establishment?” Anders was gazing at Hawke with curious eyes.

“Because they have the best little cakes and their cheese is suitably stinky,” A voice that did not belong to Hawke answered.

A red-haired elf stood next to his chair, bright smile on her face, green eyes laughing. Those eyes tracked down Anders’ chest, one eyebrow slowly crawling up her face as her gaze slid over broad shoulders and back up, the smile turning decidedly flirty. “Well hello to you. Hawke said she had friends, but she didn’t mention they would be so…striking.”

“Er…” Anders glanced at Hawke. “Who’s this?”

“Tallis,” Hawke said both in explanation and welcome. “Come sit. It’s good to see you again.”

“You too. I’m so pleased you decided to help. And I see you brought along enough of your friends for this little venture. Mm…you all will make quite the entrance,” Tallis beamed, sitting next to Anders and angling her chair to take in the table. “Especially you.” Her fingers tapped Anders’ knee.

Fenris growled slightly, earning him an appraising glance. “What, exactly, are we needed for?” Aggression was evident in every word.

“Just a little jewelry heist. The Duke went and took something that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. And we are going to remove it from his clutches,” Tallis smile lazily, leaning back her seat. “Ah…my good man, a bottle of white and a cheese platter.”

“Where did you…but we do not…” the server held off on saying the words “knife-ear,” eyes on Fenris. “What I mean is, of course.”

“Good…now run along, we’re very busy and you are very boring,” Tallis waved her hand. “Orlesians. So stuffy. I can see your fine, dwarven friend is about to speak. Probably going to ask me if I have a plan. Which I do. Step one has already been handled – you are here and looking the part.”

“What’s step two, then?” Varric asked, watching Tallis closely.

“Step two is me joining your group, ostensibly as an elven servant. And I’m sorry to say, but your broody elf there is going to have to pose as a servant as well,” Tallis nodded at Fenris. “Perhaps to the ladies? And I can handle the fine gentlemen?” Tallis winked at Anders.

“Ahh…you see…” Anders started, stopping when Fenris stood, pulling him up, and pressed him down into what used to be Fenris’ chair. Fenris took Anders’ old seat, leaned forward, and snagged Tallis by the front of her armor.

“He is mine. Mine. I am not his servant and I will never, NEVER, be put back into that position. You so much as breathe that thought again and I shall end you. Touch him, I shall end you.” The words were low and vibrating with barely suppressed rage. “We will get your gem for you, but you will not so much as LOOK at him.”

Isabela applauded, settling down when Hawke gave her a look. “Fenris, it’s ok. She’s just friendly.”

“Friendly my ass,” Isabela muttered.

“Izzy. It’ll be fine. Fenris is obviously not a servant, look at his clothing. He is a close, personal friend and will be treated as such. You may pose as you wish, but Fenris has his reasons for not wishing to take on that role,” Hawke said quietly.

Tallis tilted her head, seemingly unconcerned with the violent elf, “Lyrium markings, correct? I’d heard that a magister lost his lyrium-marked slave. Funny how the magister is now missing or dead.” Fenris growled, a low warning sound. “So it is you. Very good. Understand. You’ll catch flak, but hey, you’ll also be an oddity. And Orlesians love their oddities. Just don’t growl like that. And for the record, touch me again and I’ll slide this dagger into your heart.”

Fenris looked down to see one finely made dagger pressing against his chest piece. He released Tallis and sat back, turning to ignore her in favor of the wine being served. Anders grabbed at one of his hands, his fingers dancing nervously over knuckles. “Hush…hush. I am fine,” Fenris murmured quietly.

Tallis ignore both of them pouring herself some wine and cheering at the little cakes. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. I’ve got the carriages all settled. I’ll ride with Hawke and her friend. You three boys will be in the second carriage.”

Isabela’s face was scrunched up, displeasure clearly in her gaze. She glanced at Hawke and held her tongue, instead taking a deep drink of wine. Fenris caught her eye and a look was shared between the two of them – one that clearly said “the elf touches what’s ours and we’ll kill her.”

Anders gave Hawke a look and then settled back to soothe Fenris. Whatever happened at this Chateau, it was plain as day that it would involve at least one more outburst between Tallis and Fenris…and Tallis and Isabela.

Varric merely watched the entire scene play out. Tallis never did see him put Bianca back next to him. The crossbow had been pointed at her under the table the whole time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival at Chateau Haine.
> 
> Beautiful grounds, obscene fountains, and Duke Prosper shoves his foot down his throat.
> 
> Anders is more than happy to set the Duke straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally - we get to the actual plot point.
> 
> Note - I am completely butchering this quest. Why? BECAUSE IT'S SO FUN TO DO!

It was another five days to the Chateau. Five days of travel by carriage, of watching the Orlesian countryside slide by – the carefully tended fields and outlying towns of Val Royeaux slowly giving way to forest and then marshes as their carriages wended the road from the Capital towards Lake Celestine’s pristine waters. Other than a brief stop at Val Foret for fresh horses from a reputable Inn, the nights were spent at small way-side hostels that catered to travelers along the Empress’ highway.

Anders and Bun spent the time curled up together, the cat perching on various parts of the mage’s body while they both napped. Fenris, unable to relax knowing that they would have to deal with Tallis and her intolerable flirting every evening, played cards with Varric and quietly discussed ways to keep her from being alone with Anders. In the other carriage, Isabela watched Hawke and Tallis plan…and then talk. After day three, she had joined the guys in their carriage – discussing with Varric and Fenris ways they could get rid of Tallis.

By the time the group reached Chateau Haine, everybody was in a snit except for Hawke and Anders. Anders because he had slept for five days on the road and Hawke because Tallis was extremely attentive and flattering.

The gates to the Chateau were made of scrolling iron-work and set in an ivy-covered rock wall. The words Chateau Haine were spelled out in curling script, the break in the words occurring where the gates split. They were met by a guard dressed in livery of the Du Montfort family – saffron and garnet with a wyvern embossed on the shiny breastplate – their names found on the guest list, and their carriages waved inside.

A sprawling lawn led from the gatehouse to the Chateau – a luxury as the region was more rugged forest and wetlands. Decorative trees trimmed in the shape of animals edged the crushed stone drive: wyverns, halla, rams, bears, and other familiar animals were showcased. If there was any doubt as to Chateau Haine being a hunting lodge, well, those doubts were laid to rest by simply looking at the chosen foliage.

The drive meandered till it met the Chateau, curling around a broad fountain depicting a boar being slain by a naked hunter wielding a spear. Fenris snorted in vague amusement at the water cascading from the hunter’s rather generous genitals. His only response was “Fucking Orlesians.”

Isabela peered out the window and started cackling, waking up Anders and Bun. “Think we can bring it home? It would look amazing in Hawke’s gardens.”

Anders blinked and looked at the fountain, looked at Isabela, and shook his head. “So we are here, then?”

The door to the carriage being opened by an elf in livery answered the question for Anders. A hand was extended and a courteous, “Madam?” filtered in to the carriage interior. Waggling her eyebrows, Isabela took the hand and stepped from the carriage. The guys shared a look and followed.

***

“Welcome to Chateau Haine,” the words were spoken by an older, well-dressed gentleman. A simple saffron colored mask covered the top half of his face and met a well-kept trim graying beard and lips curved up in a smile. Hands held out in welcome, the man approached the group and offered a brief bow, “You must be Lady Hawke.”

“Messere,” Hawke responded, holding out her own hands and smiling when the gentleman took one, bowed again, and pressed a brief kiss to the back. “Duke Prosper, I presume?”

“You presume correctly. And you are more lovely than the gossip allowed for. Certainly, the whispers of the latest Amell scion spoke of a titan, an avenging angel come to free Kirkwall from the dreadful clutches of the Qunari.” The Duke squeezed Hawke’s hand once and stepped back. “And I see you brought compatriots, very good. I was hoping you would participate in our hunt.”

“I look forward to it,” Hawke smiled and turned, holding her hand out to Isabela. “May I present my partner, Captain Isabela?”

“Captain? Ahh, delighted my dear. You two will be the talk of the party,” The Duke bowed over Isabela’s hand.

For her part, Isabela offered him a flirtatious smile but kept her lips carefully pursed - mainly because Hawke was clutching her hand tightly. Instead she kept up the smile and slowly slid one arm around Hawke’s waist.

“And you brought servants. Will you want them housed with you?” The Duke tilted his head.

“Oh well…um. One is a servant, yes. But the rest are friends,” Hawke’s voice faltered as she saw the Duke gazing at Fenris with great intrigue. “That is, ah, Fenris. He is not a servant. He is with Anders.”

“Not a servant? A bodyguard then? He is impressive; those tattoos so distinctive.” The Duke approached Fenris, circling around the elf to take him in. “I am quite jealous of you, Ser. You have a bodyguard who is both beautiful and apparently, deadly.”

“You misunderstand,” Anders moved quickly to Fenris’ side, worried at the blank face on his lover, “Fenris is not my bodyguard. He is my lover. We are together, equals.”

“How…quaint. And so very Ferelden. We had heard, of course, that your King has placed an elf on his council. I can only assume it is because of his elven mistress. They are…quite pleasing to the eye…don’t you agree?” the Duke’s eyes searched Anders’ face, for what the mage wasn’t sure.

The entire group inhaled at that, Fenris’ hands clenching into fists. And then Anders tilted his head back and laughed – a long, peeling laugh that ended in him wiping at his eyes. Every single person stared at him in shock.

“Oh…oh my. I must simply write to the Commander at once. She will be delighted to know that her very presence upsets the entirety of Orlais. I do, of course, speak of Eavan Tabris: Hero of Ferleden, Slayer of the Archdemon Urthemiel, the Warden who ended the Fifth Blight and placed the current King of Ferelden up on his throne. The Commander of the Grey. Arlessa of Amaranthine, and yes, beloved of King Alistair. Though from what she's told me, she's liable to skin you alive for using her titles or making light of her affections. I know her well, Messere. Your assessment of the elves would be, ah, of interest to her.” Anders chuckled again, the sound very nearly condescending, and slowly took one of Fenris’ hands, squeezing gently.

“You know the Hero of Ferelden?” The Duke turned his nose up in the air and sniffed at the display of affection between Anders and Fenris.

“I am a Warden. Conscripted by the Commander herself. I served at Amaranthine during the incursion. I am now in Kirkwall for…my own reasons. Warden business, you understand. All very hush hush. My dear friend Hawke asked me to come with her. How could I refuse?” Anders kept his smile, his eyes meeting and boring into the Duke’s.

“I…see. Well then, we welcome you, Warden Anders, and your companion.” The Duke turned with a flourish, saw Varric, and stopped. “And you are?”

“Varric Tethras of House Tethras, at your service Duke,” Varric sketched a brief bow.

“House Tethras. Out of Kirkwall? Merchant Prince Varric Tethras?” The Duke’s lips pursed and he glanced at Hawke. “You keep company with interesting people, Lady Hawke.”

Hawke simply grinned, “You have no idea, Duke. No idea.”

“Well, you and your group shall only add to the intrigue and fun of this Hunt. Please, follow my steward to your rooms. Rest. There will be an informal gathering before supper in the atrium – nothing fancy, just drinks and finger foods. Supper will be served at eight. We will discuss the hunt during.” The Duke sketched a short bow.

“Thank you, Duke Prosper. For the invitation and the gracious welcome,” Hawke managed a curtsy, her smile widening slightly. “We look forward to seeing you at supper.”

The Duke shot one more glance at Fenris and then turned on his heels and moved back towards the Chateau. In his stead, a haughty looking elf moved up and bowed low. “If you will follow me, I shall show you to your rooms. Your luggage is being delivered there now.”

The group shared a look and then followed the elf.

***

The Chateau itself was a sprawling building of grey cut stone. The front doors were two massive wooden affairs that opened into an airy, ornate atrium. Archways led off to the left and right – into sitting rooms, music rooms, a library…the first floor was dedicated to many public spaces that the Duke was utilizing for his Hunt. A central arch took the group to a wide staircase to the second floor. Making a left, the steward led the group down a long hallway with doors widely interspersed.

“The West guest wing,” the steward explained. “Each door leads to a suite of rooms suitable for two or three couples and their servants. We are lucky to be able to offer you a back suit. It overlooks the ornamental pond and garden. Interesting landmarks include the lover’s nook, the rose arbor, and the entrance to the hedge maze.”

Opening a white enameled and gilt gold door, the steward bowed. “Allow me to show you each to your rooms. We were apprised of two couples and one gentleman. The main suite is here. The servant’s quarters sit next to it. And then this back room belongs to the second couple. Messere, this door leads to your own space.” The steward gestured through the door.

A gracefully decorated sitting room filled with couches and chairs was through the main suite door. The mentioned rooms were arranged around the sitting room with a door to the right, back center, and left.

“Each room has a separate bathing area, dwarven plumbing, and a heating rune. Should you wish help from the staff, a simple pull of the saffron cord by your door will alert us. The kitchens are open at all hours and fresh linens can be requested at any time. When you are prepared to go down to the gathering, simply alert us by tugging on this rope and a servant will come to lead you. Is there anything I can offer you now?” The steward glanced at the group, all of them shaking their heads.

“Welcome to Chateau Haine.” The steward offered a final bow before backing through the suit’s door and then leaving.

“Well then…this is…cozy.” Hawke said as she looked around. “I recommend we all bathe and rest and get changed into our most eye-catching clothing. We have some socializing to do tonight, yes?”

“Sounds good to me, Hawke,” Varric glanced around and then sauntered into his door on the left. “I’ll be napping. Knock when you’re ready to leave.”

“I could use a bath and Bun would probably enjoy sitting in a window,” Anders rubbed a hand over one silk-covered settee.

“Then we shall go make use of their tub,” Fenris ran his hand over Anders’ back, shot Tallis a warning look, and then led his mage to their door set in the back.

“Tallis, feel free to…I don’t know…do whatever. Isabela and I are going to go check out the bath ourselves. Sound good?” Hawke glanced at Isabela, a timid smile on her face.

“Come on sweet thing, I’ll wash your back and hair,” Isabela purred, ignoring Tallis in favor of smiling at her lover.

“I’ll do a little checking around with the servants before I rest up. I promise to not be gone long,” Tallis murmured, winking at Hawke. Hawke nodded and allowed herself to be led away by Isabela.

Watching the doors all close, Tallis gave a final glance around and then slipped from the suit of rooms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overly ornate bedrooms, hidden erotic art, and fancy duds...

Anders stood in the entry to their bedroom and simply gawked at the sheer ugliness of the room they had been given. Fenris shot him an amused glance and moved around his mage, going to make sure their belongings had been delivered safely and to start pulling off his gauntlets. Glancing around again, his mouth still slightly agape, Anders finally walked across the spacious room to the ornate bed and gently pulled Bun from her sack on his back.

“Here you go, sweetheart. One incredibly hideous bed to perch on. Please don't vomit on the coverlet – no matter how much of an eyesore it is,” Anders crooned softly, smoothing down Bun's fur.

For her part, Bun simply gave a mrrp and jumped down, slinking off to investigate their new quarters.

The room was overly ornate, every surface that wasn't covered in silk or art was gilded gold. There was a spray of fresh flowers on the mantle and two more near the bed. The polished wood floors were covered by overlapping plush rugs in various shades of gold and ivory. The walls were covered in pale ivory silk with knotted scroll-work in soft gold. The wide windows held a view of the rose garden below and were framed with heavy gold brocade curtains. In the center of the room stood the bed - a huge ivory and gold four-poster horror. The wood was intricately carved with little cherubs and more cherubs frolicked across the headboard. Anders squinted at one of the posts and started laughing.

“What is so amusing about the bed?” Fenris had moved to squint at the opposite post and then huffed. “Fucking Orlesians.”

The cherubs were all naked and all cavorting amorously. Some of the positions were highly improbably. A closer look at the little pudgy figures on the headboard confirmed that all of them were well-endowed and performing an orgy.

“Do you think the Duke gave this room to us on purpose?” Anders glanced at his lover, amusement in his eyes.

“I think the Duke plays a mocking version of the game the Tevinter Magisters play and is hoping to unsettle his Ferelden guests,” was the muttered response. “He is but a child playing at things he does not understand.”

“And you do?” Anders went to investigate the bathing room, pleased to see that the tub was deep and big enough for two and did, indeed, have a heating rune. It also was shaped like a giant swan and was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors installed on the walls. A glance up showed a mosaic of two satyrs orally pleasuring a reclining, voluptuous woman. Anders thought the Satyrs were rather ugly and the woman looked more bored than aroused – but maybe he just didn't understand Orlesian erotic art.

The harrumph behind him made him chuckle, “I was Danarius' bodyguard, Anders. I went everywhere with him. I was privy to every secret meeting, every assassination planned, every sleight-of-hand. The Orlesians wear masks and plot death – secure that the mask will hide their intent. In Tevinter, the game is played much the same – but the faces are uncovered and the smile of greeting is genuine. Being liked socially will not save a Magister if they are weak. Placing a rival in a room such as this would be seen as childish. No, give your rival the best. The best body slaves, the best food, the best rooms...ply them with your affection. What does it matter when their lives are already set to be ended by a simple blood magic ritual or poison in the expensive wine they love so much?” Fenris gave a slight sigh, moving to press himself against Anders' back. “I do not like being here. It stirs up memories best left forgotten.”

“I won't let them hurt you, you know,” Anders' voice was rough, blue splintering through his skin, “They will pay for every knife-ear comment. For every sneering look. The plight of the elves is unjust and the ORLESIANS WILL PAY WITH THEIR LIVES.” Justice held full sway, Anders' voice filled with the unearthly power of a fade spirit's wrath.

Fenris supposed he should be afraid, should be backing away as Anders/Justice spun to look at him, as pale-skinned hands splintered with the power of the fade gripped his shoulders, but he wasn't. For once, the appearance of Justice filled him with a sense of relief – knowing that he wouldn't face this place alone made something in him relax. Gazing up into eyes swirling with power, he saw a mage willing to sunder himself to save him...to save one ex-slave. He still didn't fully support mage freedom, Fenris was still working through his own fears of magic and mages, but he supported Anders.

Activating his brands, Fenris brushed a hand over Anders/Justice's chin and cupped one cheek, thumb rubbing over the tender skin of the mage's throat. “Thank you, Justice.”

The spirit peered at him through Anders' eyes and leaned in to the caress. “WE WILL NOT LET THEM HAVE YOU. YOU ARE OURS. ANDERS LOVES YOU.”

Those words had Anders/Justice closing their eyes, the blue slowly receding till only pale, freckled skin remained and honey-brown eyes were left staring down into Fenris' face with embarrassment and fear. “I am...”

“Hush mage. Hush. I am fine. I am, perhaps, more than fine.” Fenris scrapped his nails lightly over the scruff covering Anders' chin. “Your spirit, he speaks more frankly than you do.”

“Well, there's no need for subterfuge in the fade. And for Justice, things either are or they aren't. There is no between, no grey area.” The words were quiet. “I am...”

“You are going to draw a bath for us, Anders.” Fenris pulled his mage across the room and turned him to the mirrors. Wrapping his arms around his lover, Fenris smiled. “You are beautiful.”

“I'm a scarred, scared, possessed mage, Fenris,” Anders said with a head shake, watching in the mirror as Fenris slowly opened his robes.

“You are beautiful,” Fenris said, slipping his hand into the robe to brush fingertips over one nipple. “That you feel so strongly about the elves...it speaks well of you. I lived in fear for so long. Fear of mages, fear of magic...fear of myself...of freedom, of emotions. I feared you. I loathed you. What you stood for, what you spoke about. Because agreeing with you would mean that my own thoughts were wrong. I thought agreeing with you, I thought that seeing you as a man hurting would mean that what I had gone through was...less.”

Placing a hand over Fenris', Anders shook his head, “What happened to you was wrong. Slavery is wrong. Danarius deserved to die. I never hated you, Fenris. I just hated that you never gave me a chance.”

“I know. And I apologize. It is still hard to look at a mage and not feel that they need to be in the Circle, but I at least understand better why you fight so hard for them,” Fenris moved around to stand in front of Anders. “Being here, seeing the look on the faces of the Orlesians. Knowing that I cannot hide what I am...elf, slave...I understand.”

“They don't see you. They just see an elf. Somebody they view as less,” Anders murmured. “And if they knew I was a mage...it would be the same for me.”

“Then we shall show them we are more than just a mage or just an elf,” Fenris gave a small smile. “I believe we can thank Fran for that.”

Anders blinked and the started laughing, “Ahh...say it again. Fran was right about the clothing.”

“Do not push your luck, mage,” The smile grew wider.

“Or what? You'll spank me?” Anders danced back away from the elf and pulled off his robe, laughing as Fenris' ears perked up.

“Perhaps I shall, mage. All that pale skin would redden nicely, yes?” Fenris arched an eyebrow and slowly unbuckled his breastplate, eyes on Anders.

Flushing hotly, Anders skirted around his elf and went to start the bath. The sounds of armor being piled on a chair made him squirm. The feeling of a hand sliding over his arse made the squirming worse. “You're a terrible tease,” he murmured.

“Who said I was teasing?” Fenris climbed into the steaming water and settled, raising an eyebrow at Anders. “Get in the tub, mage. I wish to scrub your back.” He laughed under his breath as Anders climbed in and settled, relaxing as the water swirled around them both, as the man he loved smiled at him.

***

“How do I look?”

Fenris glanced over at his mage and swallowed slightly – mostly from desire, only a little from remembered fear. “Handsome, exotic, and a tiny bit like a Magister.”

Anders glanced down at the fall of ivory fabric and smoothed his hand over the corset. The over-tunic draped over the fitted black sleeveless under-tunic and form-fitting trousers and was cinched tightly at the waist by an underbust black corset covered in dainty scrolling ivory embroidery. The over-tunic slid up and over one shoulder, and flared into a wide collar. The lining of the tunic was also black, the dark fabric making Anders' pale skin glow. One arm was bare except for one golden cuff worn high around the bicep. The torque gleamed at his throat and an earring dangled from one ear.

Fenris tapped at the earring and Anders grinned. “Well, the hole had closed but it was the work of a moment to re-pierce it.” His grin slid away as nerves took its place, “Do you hate it?”

“It is very Tevinter. I have seen man young men wearing similar garments. But...it is also striking on you. You are no Magister, Anders. You would never collar me. I shall be able to deal with the uncomfortable twinges,” Fenris soothed his lover. “I am proud to have you stand with me.”

“Oh well...” Pink filled Anders cheeks. “But you look amazing.”

Fenris did, the deep crimson of his tunic made the lyrium brands stand out starkly. Fran had opted for silver embroidery on the collar and over the cuffs. Like all of his tunics, this one was cut in a severe military style with black frogging down the front and a black sash wrapping around his narrow waist. Tight black leggings, these with silver embroidery down the outside seam, molded to Fenris' legs and ended at bare feet covered by the leather foot covers. Anders watched as Fenris tucked his hair back behind his ears, the elf's ears a slight pink from the compliment.

“Come mage, let us not keep everyone waiting.” Fenris held out his hand, smiling when Anders entwined their fingers.

“After dinner, I want...” Anders squeezed Fenris' hand. “I want to come back and pleasure you.”

“Do you?” Fenris glanced up at Anders, a smile tilting up one side of his lips.

“Oh yes,” was the excited response. “I do.”

“Behave and I shall allow it. No starting fights, no Justice.”

“I promise,” Anders nodded. “Be good while we're gone,Bun. I'll have somebody bring you a treat.”

Bun rolled over on the large bed and showed her belly. She stretched slightly, claws coming out to pick at the coverlet, before huffing softly and closing her eyes. Anders grinned and Fenris shook his head.

“Come mage, let us go show Orlesians how well mannered we can be,” Fenris gave the cat one more look and then led his lover from the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More clothing!
> 
> The start of the evening soiree!
> 
> Anders in the maze with a handsy Comtesse, one angry elf, and a very disturbing statue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Penbrydd for helping me with Isabela's outfit.
> 
> I am just going to post this already. if I keep staring at it I'll delete the chapter.

“I'm telling you, Blondie, I'm betting I’ll have to pull at least two Orlesians off of you tonight. And I bet you cause at least a half dozen men to question their sexuality,” Varric was sauntering next to Anders, his eyes periodically taking in the mage's outfit. “I bet you get a marriage proposal before this entire trip is over.”

“You jest. And I refuse to even contemplate accepting those bets.” Anders shook his head. “Besides, Fenris is already growling. I think that will keep most people away.”

Fenris let out a soft harrumph noise, face displaying nothing but minor annoyance. Secretly though, he was most pleased with the way his mage look. He was also pleasantly surprised with his ability to push past the initial uncomfortable memories the Tevinter-styled clothing had stirred-up to focus more on the man he loved. Anders may be wearing clothing reminiscent of a magister, but he was far removed from those corrupt mages. No, his mage was a healer – a type of magic not usually lauded in the Tevinter Imperium.

The men had met Varric, Isabela, and Hawke in the sitting room and had been subjected to much cooing – at least on the parts of Isabela and Hawke. Varric had given a grunt of approval to Fenris and then gawked a bit at Anders. Fenris didn't blame him, Anders was stunning. And his...he reminded himself of that with every step. The mage was his and nobody could take him away.

The feeling of slender fingers lightly clutching his sleeve made Fenris turn his gaze up to meet honey-brown eyes and he gave a slight smile. “I am fine, Anders. I will not growl when the rabble flirts with you. I cannot promise to not curse, however.”

“Broody, all you need to do is stand there and frown a bit and the entire soiree will be convinced that Anders is some Prince in hiding and you are his secret bodyguard. They will want you as much as they want him. Maker's Balls, you two are outshining Hawke and Isabela and they are radiant.” Varric eyed the women in front of him and shook his head. “I am out-classed.”

“Nonsense, I didn't realize you even owned formal wear,” Anders soothed. “You look handsome.”

Varric preened just a bit, his hands brushing the hunter green embroidered waistcoat he wore over a fine ivory linen shirt. Over the waistcoat and shirt was a black worsted jacket that showed off his broad shoulders and exactly matched the fitted black trousers and leather boots. “Thank you, Blondie. I own all kinds of fancy duds. Have to have something to wear when I get called in to the Merchant Guild. And woe to the Dwarf who shows up in the same thing twice in one season.”

“That waistcoat is amazing, though. The embroidery is beautiful,” Hawke had turned her head and was shooting him a beaming smile.

It was lovely, geometric patterns reminiscent of Dwarven stone carvings covered the waistcoat. Varric waggled his eyebrows and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt allowing a hint of chest hair to show. “There, now it's perfect.”

“You rogue, you,” Hawke tutted, her hips swishing coquettishly, her gown rustling with the movement.

Hawke had gone traditional Orlesian for the evening gathering, her gown possessing a high fitted collar, long sleeves, and a narrow waist that flowed into a graceful skirt. The entire gown was done in azure silk, the color accenting her vivid blue eyes. With her red hair coiled up in an elaborate twist and a delicate pale blue porcelain mask, Hawke looked every inch the Orlesian lady.

Isabela was daring in a long-sleeved gown of sheer copper chiffon over black silk. The ruched deep V of the bodice ended in a cinched waist embellished with black embroidery that emphasized her hourglass figure. A double-layered A-line skirt floated with every step. She had left her hair loose, the wave of it falling glossily over one shoulder, and she wore no mask.

“I'll be honest, it won't be me making the splash, it'll be Isabela,” Anders said, his eyes lingering on the sway of fabric as she moved.

“Careful Handsome, you're drooling,” Isabela gave him a wink.

Fenris growled softly at Isabela, narrowing his eyes at her as she laughed. “Mine,” he whispered fiercely.

“Hush,” Hawke hissed as the servant who was leading them came to a stop. “We're here. Behave.”

“The Lady Anya Hawke-Amell of Kirkwall and her companions: Captain Isabela, Warden Anders, Merchant-Prince Tethras, and Messere Fenris,” the servant called in a loud voice, bowing stepping aside.

Hawke took a tiny breath, grasped Isabela's arm, and stepped into the salon with her head held high. Everybody else pulled on suitably bored faces and followed Hawke. The game had officially started.

***

The morning salon of Chateau Haine spilled into the formal gardens. One wall was entirely covered with windows and doors, the better to allow the guests to mingle on the broad veranda that overlooked carefully placed beds of flowers: asters and mums and late-blooming roses interspersed in geometric beds that bordered walkways of crushed stone. The long room of the salon was dotted with grouped settees and chairs, all arranged to give groups the opportunity to sit and chat. The walls were covered in murals depicting the hunt – groups of chevaliers hounding wyverns, bear, and in one instance, a dragon. Servants bustled around the guests, circulating food and drink to the beautifully coifed throng.

Hawke and Isabela stepped lightly across the floor, having seen the Duke gesture to them. Anders and Fenris followed with Varric trailing behind both couples, eyes taking in the nobles and the servants moving through the crowd. He hung back, listening as opposed to participating, eyes on Anders and Fenris as the Duke turned to greet the group.

“Ahh, My Lady Hawke, so good of you to join us. You look stunning, simply stunning. And Captain Isabela, there are no words to adequately describe your beauty,” The Duke fawned over both women. “May I introduce you to the Marquis de Chevin and Comtesse d’Argent?” The Duke waved at his friends, both offering tilts of their heads in greeting.

“Marquis, Comtesse,” Hawke offered a curtsy. Isabela simply smiled and arched an eyebrow, winking when she caught the Marquis glancing at her breasts. “It is a pleasure.”

“Ours as well,” the Comtesse cooed. “All the way from Kirkwall. That is quite a trip. I hope it was not too arduous.”

“We were able to spend time in Val Royeaux, so it wasn’t terrible,” Hawke dug her fingers into Isabela’s arm when she noticed the wink.

“Ah, I see your companions have decided to join you. May I present the Warden Anders and his…companion…Messere Fenris.” The Duke sneered a bit at Fenris who gave him a flat, unreadable look in return.

Anders beamed, “Hi. Lovely to meet you.”

The Marquis coughed slightly and shifted, eyes tracking down Anders’ tunic and landing on the corset. The Comtesse fluttered a fan and offered a wide smile, “A Warden. Here? Why Duke Prosper, you have outdone yourself. And what a handsome man. Are all Wardens so charming?”

“Er…” Anders thought back to Vigil’s Keep and Oghren passed out in a puddle of his own vomit and ale and tried to come up with something diplomatic, “We do try.”

“Some more than others, no?” The Comtesse took a step forward and held out one hand to Anders. “I should dearly love a walk in the garden.”

Anders cleared his throat and glanced at Fenris who raised an eyebrow at the lady. Anders released Fenris’ arm and took the Comtesse’s hand in his and carefully placed it on his arm. “Then we shall go walk the gardens. Fenris?”

“I shall be fine, Anders.” Fenris tried to swallow the slight growl. “I shall find you shortly.”

A brief smile at his lover and Anders swept the Comtesse off to the gardens. Fenris watched for a moment as the woman leaned against Anders, her fan smacking him on the shoulder. Keeping his face bland, he turned back to the Duke and offered a brief smile. The Duke raised an eyebrow. The Marquis, watching the by-play, studied Fenris.

“You have a martial bearing about you,” The Marquis ventured. “I didn’t realize the Wardens required bodyguards.”

“I am not Anders’ bodyguard,” Fenris responded smoothly.

“Oh?” The word held a wealth of meaning.

Hawke looked between the two men and interjected hurriedly, “Fenris is here as my guest. His fighting skills will be invaluable to me during the hunt.”

“I see. I, myself, am always on the look-out for promising talent. Not that I require a bodyguard, per se, but one of your obvious talents…combined with your stunning looks…” The Marquis let his words hang in the air while his eyes slid covetously down Fenris’ body.

Fighting back the urge to simply plunge his fist into the impertinent man’s chest, Fenris instead tilted his head to the side and let his eyes trail over the Marquis. A wave of nausea rose in him at the look in the Marquis’ eyes, followed by a spurt of anger. Instead of responding, he turned smartly and walked away – relieved that he could do that now. These people did not own him. He could leave whenever he wished.

As he headed out to the gardens he heard Hawke trying to soothe the now-sputtering Marquis. The sounds made him smile.

Out in the garden, Anders was fighting to keep the Comtesse’s hands from wandering. The woman was annoyingly persistent, her hands sliding first up his arm and then over his back to toy with the ties of his corset.

“Wardens are so…mysterious…” she tucked herself close to Anders’ side. “Tell me, have you killed many of the wretched darkspawn?”

“More than I care to count, Comtesse,” Anders answered honestly while trying to wrangle some space between himself and the clingy woman.

“So brave and handsome.” The Comtesse came to a stop and Anders realized with a sinking feeling that they had wandered into the maze and were alone. His eyes took in the tall green walls and then landed on a small statue tucked into a corner – two men engaged in what looked like sword dueling – using their cocks. He blinked slowly and tilted his head a little…yes, the cocks were sword shaped and being used as weapons. It was disturbing.

Anders had some sudden and unwelcome realizations about their host. Mainly that he had finally met somebody with an even more depraved mind than his own – which was really saying something.

The feeling of a hand drifting up to toy with the back of the torque…the torque he wore for Fenris…brought Anders back to himself and he gazed down in abject terror at the Comtesse who was tugging his head down for a kiss. He tried, he really did, to push her away – but the woman had a strong grip and Anders was mildly afraid of hurting her.

The cold brush of the mask against his face followed by warm lips was brief…Anders felt those lips touch his and then there was a scream and flashes of blue as Fenris rushed forward and flung the Comtesse from Anders.

“Fenris…I know what it looks like…and you aren’t wrong but killing the Comtesse would be a terrible idea…” Anders rushed to wrap his arms around his lover.

The Comtesse was screaming little panting screams, her mask askew on her face and hair mussed. Fenris was cursing a steady stream of Arcanum. Anders stood in the middle of the cubby in the maze, a cursing elf in his arms, a sobbing woman at his feet, and cast a desperate look to the obscene statue in the corner.

The two men continued their silent sword-cock duel…oblivious to Anders’ distress.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders talks himself out of trouble.
> 
> Fenris does not approve of a big chunk of the banquet...
> 
> Does anybody actually have table manners?

“It was truly terrible, Messere. One minute the Comtesse and I were walking calmly through the maze and then next she gave a piercing scream. Fenris came running to see what happened but the most I can figure is that she became overcome at one of my stories, and I am deeply sorry,” Anders had pulled on his “contrite” face, the face he used to give the Warden Commander when caught pulling pranks with Nate.

And the Duke was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.

“I am sure the Comtesse will be fine. She has always been a tad too curious for her own good,” The Duke soothed. “I shall have her maid servant fetched.”

Anders gave a half-bow, swallowing the small smile before it could blossom, and held a hand out to Fenris. He gave his elf a wide-eyed look and Fenris grunted before taking the offered hand. “Do you require us for anything else?”

“Not at all.” The Duke was studying Fenris as if he was a rare type of animal to be hunted and perhaps catalogued. “Perhaps the sight of your elven partner overcame her sensibilities. He is quite fierce.”

Anders allowed himself to smile then, showing a hint of teeth. “Perhaps, though the Comtesse was plying me with questions about the darkspawn. There is no gentle way to describe those monsters.”

“Indeed. You are, of course, free to continue to enjoy the party. Thank you for taking such care with the Comtesse. I am sure she would not wish anybody to know that she fainted in the maze. Her husband would be most put out you understand. Quite the scandal.” The Duke tilted his head up at that.

And Anders knew he had gotten away with it. “Mm. She’s married? Funny, she didn’t share that tidbit. Ah well, please let me know if I can be of any further service,” Anders offered another bow and started walking off, hand clenching around Fenris’.

He waited till they had moved deeper into the maze before stopping. When Anders was certain that the only listener to their conversation would be the nymph statue in the small square cubby, he turned and frowned at Fenris, who shuffled his feet. Raising an eyebrow, Anders waited.

“I am sorry, Anders,” Fenris finally said, his eyes downcast and shoulders hunched. The elf seemed to deflate, ears drooping.

The sight of his lover nearly doubled-over sparked worry in Anders’ chest. Fenris shuffled again, refusing to meet his eyes. To see his fierce, feisty lover so subservient suddenly made Anders ill. “For?”

“The display. It was inappropriate and…” Fenris let out a surprised squeak as Anders reached out and tugged him into a hug. “Anders…mage…”

“Why won’t you look at me?” The words were quiet, spoken into white hair.

Fenris choked back a response and clung to Anders. “The way they look at me,” he said finally. “Like I am nothing…and I have to remind myself that I am able to be more. I am more. I walked away from the Marquis, but seeing that woman with her hands on you…”

“Don’t remind me,” Anders murmured.

“You are unharmed?” Fenris relaxed, settling into a role he could handle, that of Anders' protector. “It was not you...do not think that I do not trust you. It was seeing her obviously taking advantage...”

“Mm...we were lucky I could get that sleep spell off in time.” The chuckle rolled from Anders. “I bet she won't be able to look at you without blanching. And she will never, truly, be able to say anything because the minute she does I will feign absolute outrage.”

Fenris snorted, tilting his head at the sound of a bell. “I believe that is the dinner bell.”

“They ring a bell for dinner? How very Chantry of them,” Anders muttered. “They'd do that in the Circle as well.”

“It is to remind guests to come in and not dawdle in the gardens. There is a certain amount of indiscreet behavior that is expected at one of this events,” Fenris held out his arm and gave a slight smile when Anders' accepted it, the long fingers of his mage's hand resting gently on one embroidered tunic sleeve.

“You know a lot about these social events,” the words were spoken softly. “Danarius' doing?”

“I went everywhere with him. He delighted in showing me off. I have never attended one of these dinners as a guest, though. Always, I stood behind my master during the events.” Fenris grimaced slightly and then schooled his features as they left the maze.

“Well, then we should enjoy the dinner tonight. I've never been to one either, though Eavan would tell me about them from time to time. Her estimation was that formal events were boring and stuffy, designed to drive a person to drink. Heavily. Let's see if it's true,” Anders squeezed Fenris' arm gently.

“I think I would enjoy the drinking portion. Followed by returning to our rooms,” The look Fenris shot him was pure heat. “I feel a distinct urge to remind you that you are, indeed, mine.”

Anders shivered at the possessive gleam in his lover's eye. It would be a miracle if they could make it through dinner without one of them throwing down their napkin and dragging the other off. And wouldn't that just cause tongues to wag?

Truthfully, Anders was deeply glad of Fenris' amorous overtones. It helped to quite the unhappy thoughts Justice was currently radiating – the touch of that woman, seeing Fenris cowed...Justice was fairly certain that this entire event was unjust. So being distracted with thoughts of licking his elf helped to lull the fade spirit into at least some semblance of calm.

Fenris must have sensed Anders' unease and gave another small smile. “It would be unwise to lose control of Justice during dinner, mage,” he whispered.

“I'm thinking calming thoughts, don't worry,” Anders whispered back, giving Hawke and Isabela a small wave. “He is content to stay silent...assuming I can lick you later.”

There was a brief moment of quiet and then Fenris chuckled – a sinful sound that had at least one Orlesian woman fanning herself. “I think I can allow that,” he growled softly. The woman gave a little squeak and Fenris turned to look at her, one brow raised.

Anders and Fenris watched as the woman flamed red and abruptly sat down in her chair, her dining companion fussing over her. Both men shared a look and took their own seats.

Orlesians...

***

“What is this that I am eating?” Fenris hissed at Anders, poking at the food on his plate.

Anders bit his lip and whispered out of the corner of his mouth “those are mussels steamed with shallots and garlic in white wine.”

Fenris turned a slightly horrified look to Anders, “They look like tiny tongues.”

“Well...um. Don't eat them? Try the wine. The wine is quite lovely.” Anders lifted his glass and took a small swallow of the golden wine.

“It is a white. I detest white wines,” Fenris' ears were drooping and had a greenish tint to them. “I am hungry.”

“Look, the main course is on its way. Just, stop poking your food. I thought you had table manners,” Anders murmured before leaning forward to smile at Varric who sat next to Fenris. Isabela, placed on the other side of Anders, was busy sucking the wine sauce off the mussel shells, much to the absolute interest of the gentleman sitting across from her.

“Izzy!” Hawke hissed. “Stop it.”

“Mm...but look at how mottled that young man is getting,” Isabela's laugh was husky and amused. “Oh fine, sweet thing. I'll stop teasing the man.”

“I have never been forced to actually eat the food. I just...stood behind Danarius and glowered.” Fenris was muttering to Anders.

“You have the glowering down great,” Anders sighed.

“I'm starving. When's the real food coming out?” Varric's voice carried across the table. Hawke groaned and Anders chuckled under his breath.

“I think you will be pleased with the main course, Ser Dwarf,” The Duke called out jovially. “I caught the boar myself.” The Duke clapped his hands and the servants began to clear away the bowls and glasses, leaving small dishes behind.

Fenris glanced at Anders who whispered, “Lemon sorbet. To clean your palate. Eat it. I really thought you'd have this down, but maybe Tevinter doesn't do dinner courses like Orlais...or Ferelden...”

Much to Anders' amusement, Fenris tried to lick the little bowl clean. The mage had just wrestled the small bowl away from his elf when dinner plates were placed and two elves carried in a giant platter holding an entire roast boar. The dish was paraded around the dining room to much celebration, and then placed on a side-board for slicing.

“That's...amazing...” Fenris was eying the boar with a single-minded intensity that was worrying Anders.

Varric nudged the elf, “Finally some real food, right Broody?”

Fenris was momentarily distracted by bottles of red wine being brought out, he grabbed at a server's sleeve before she could step away,“Can you leave an entire bottle?”

“Of course, Messere,” she curtsied. “Enjoy.”

“Now this is more to my taste,” Fenris murmured, “Antivan, not a bad year either.”

“Are you going to drink your dinner?” Anders just shook his head in mock disapproval.

Fenris simply poured himself a glass and took a decent swallow, purring softly as the heavy flavor bloomed on his tongue. A plate of roast boar, fruit compote, mushrooms, and fingerling potatoes was placed in front of him and he, once again, waited for Anders to explain every dish. Satisfied that the food wasn't related to fish in any way, Fenris took a bite, gave a soft hum of approval, and proceeded to clean his entire plate.

***

They had made it through the salad course with minimal problems – Fenris deigning to eat the dainty greens and fruit only because the vinaigrette had berries in it - and had just started on the dessert course when the Duke stood, a glass of sweet sparkling wine in one hand.

“My friends! It gives me great pleasure to see you all here at Chateau Haine for the annual Wyvern hunt. We will be starting early tomorrow. The challenge – be the first to bring down a Wyvern. The reward? Not only the accolades of your peers, but a handsome reward from my treasury. And after the hunt there will be festivities in the garden. Enjoy the rest of your meal tonight. We will gather at dawn on the front lawn.”

The assembled guests applauded, turning to their neighbors to speak quietly about tomorrow and the hunt. Fenris took a swallow of the sweet wine, made a face, and sighed, “Wyvern hunting.”

“Can’t be any worse than the Bone Pit’s dragon,” Anders muttered. “Remember the dragon?”

“How could I forget, Anders. It picked me up by a foot and threw me like a doll,” Fenris growled softly, swallowing another mouthful of wine. “Venhedis, this is too sweet.”

“It’s not meant to be guzzled, love,” Anders splayed his hand on Fenris’ back and slowly dragged it up the elf’s spine to rub over the tender skin at the base of the neck. “Would you prefer to return to our room? We could have them bring us some more red wine?”

Fenris tipped his head back a bit, exhaled, and glanced around – noting other couples standing and giving their good evenings. “Yes. I believe I would like that.”

“Hawke, we’ll see you all in the morning. Fenris and I are going to go rest and check on Bun,” Anders stood, nodding politely at the Duke and then offering his hand to Fenris.

Isabela snickered slightly, but said nothing. Hawke grinned, “Tell Bun we said hello.”

“You two stay out of trouble,” Varric grinned. “No more excitement in the hedge maze.”

“For shame, Varric. Where else would you have the excitement?” Anders laughed at Fenris’ quiet growl, squeezed his elf’s hand, and headed back to their rooms.

Fenris clung to Anders and only relaxed when they had left the crowd behind, exhaling, “Thank you.”

“For?” Anders glanced over at his elf and smiled.

“You have never treated me as they would treat me. Even when we were at odds, you always viewed me with a measure of respect. For that, I thank you.” Fenris’ gaze was filled with warmth and gratitude.

“Fenris. Whatever we were in the past, I promise you that now I look at you and only see the man I love. I swear. And the rest of them? It will be a miracle if Justice doesn’t burn this place down before we’re done.” Anders was only half-joking, coughing a bit to hide the sudden spurt of worry.

“Mage, I will not let you burn down the Chateau,” Fenris said with great seriousness. “Until we have packed our things and retrieved Bun,” he added with a grin.

Anders blinked, blinked again, and burst out laughing. He continued chortling all the way to their rooms.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff
> 
> Smut
> 
> Fluffy Smut

“Mage, what are you doing? We bathed earlier,” Fenris stood at the door to the bathing room and frowned. Anders was standing before the ridiculous swan tub, fragrant steam wafting up from the obviously warm water.

“Yes, well...being mauled in a hedge maze has left me feeling a little dirty,” Anders turned and smiled, letting the towel around his waist drop. “Come here, you.”

“I bathed earlier as well,” Fenris crossed his arms but made his way to his mage. “I do not know if I wish to again.”

“Not even with me?” Golden-brown eyes laughed down at him as slim fingers started unwinding the sash and undoing buttons at the neck and wrists of the tunic. “Fenris?”

“Mm?” Fenris was busy watching those fingers slide down his chest, down to the hem of the tunic and start to pull the garment up.

“May I?” The question was asked with a serious tone, the undertones ringing that Fenris was free to say no.

Lips quirking up, the elf nodded and allowed his mage to slowly pull the tunic from him. He watched with interest as Anders dropped to his knees and picked up one legging-clad leg, removing the foot cover. He repeated the action, tossing both leather pieces across the bathing room before turning to the knots on the elf's leggings. “Yes?”

“Yes,” growled Fenris, one hand carding through blond hair as long fingers tugged the knots open and then peeled the leggings down, exposing dark skin and lyrium lines.

“So beautiful,” Anders murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to one hip, his lips tracing down a lyrium line from hip to knee, knee to ankle, and then back up.

The brush of lips over skin had shivers racing up Fenris' body, the little licks of tongue leaving cool damp in a line up one leg, across his belly, and back down the other leg. Inhaling, eyes closing, he let Anders turn him so that the mage could trail kisses up the back of his legs, lavish kisses at the small of his back.

There was a soft noise and then Anders was standing behind him, arms holding Fenris back against the still-thin chest. They were visible in the full-length mirror, Anders turning them so that Fenris could see their entire bodies. “Look at you,” he whispered.

“I would rather not,” Shaking his head, Fenris gripped at Anders' hands. “I see nothing I wish to be reminded of in that mirror.”

“Not true,” Anders rubbed his cheek against Fenris' hair. “You beat him, you know. You didn't just run away, you started living as a free man. You made friends. You settled down – made memories. Made decisions. Learned how to be Fenris – not just a slave. Found somebody who loves you...” Anders flushed at that.

“But I still carry his markings,” the words were bitter.

“I carry markings too. I always will – reminders of the injustice inflicted on me.” The words came out a little deeper and Anders shook his head. “I love you.”

Those words, spoken so plainly, had them both stiffening, eyes meeting in the mirror. “I never got to tell Karl,” Anders explained slowly. “You didn't...you never spoke of it in the Circle. He knew, I have to think he knew...but...”

“Mage...Anders...” Fenris turned, wanting to look into his lover's eyes.

“No. You need to hear it. It's stupid that the words stick in my throat. As if the templar will burst in at any minute to steal you away from me.” A quick inhale to settle. “I love you.”

“I...” Fenris' eyes were wide on Anders' face.

“You don't have to say it back. I know you do. But I needed to tell you. This place, the way you looked earlier...it's important.” Anders gave a wry smile. “Maybe one day you'll feel safe enough to tell me back.”

“Mage,” the word was rough, amazement still on Fenris' face.

The kiss was gentle, kitten licks and soft nips – traveling from lips down the brands on Fenris' chin, over his throat...Anders dropped to his knees and pressed his face against the elf's stomach and just stayed there, inhaling and rubbing his scruff-covered cheek lightly over the skin.

The feeling of lyrium-lined fingers brushing through his hair had Anders moving down a little more, tongue lapping over the still-soft length, lips pressing light kisses before taking him in and Fenris gasped – pleasure, sudden and sharp, spiking up his body.

Anders suckled gently, hands moving to cup his sac and tug lightly, humming in pleasure as Fenris hardened in his mouth. Those fingers in his hair tightened, tugged lightly, the little sparks of pain making him move faster, swirl his tongue just so under the head, tease lightly down the length.

Fenris moaned the entire time, his eyes first on the bobbing head of his mage and then on the mirror in front of him, watching as Anders pleasured him.

The orgasm hit hard, Fenris clutching Anders' hair in a tight grip and gasping out his name. His mage gentled his mouth, swallowing and sucking lightly till Fenris wobbled, whimpered, a hand landing on a pale shoulder for balance.

“Anders...” words were slow to come back, body too lax and warm from the pleasure.

Fenris let himself be helped into the bath, the warm water soothing against his sensitive skin. Anders sat behind him, his arms tight around his elf, and let out a hum of contentment.

“What about you?” It seemed important...this seemed important.

“I'm happy just like this,” the words quick to come, the arms tightening a hair. “Let me fuss over you a bit and then we’ll sleep. Tomorrow will probably be horrible. I want to rest with you tonight.”

“And this is enough? I can't give you what you gave me...”

“Fenris, you've given me so much already. You don't need to give me more,” Anders assured him. “Just...let me have this moment with you.”

“Alright, Anders. Alright.” Fenris patted at the pale hands and allowed himself to be coddled a bit.

***

Later, in bed, arms wrapped around Anders, Fenris watched him sleep and wondered. He wondered why he couldn't simply say the words. He wondered why Anders had felt like the words had to be said now...here. It was such a little thing, to walk among these Orlesians. Not a slave but not an equal, certainly. Probably never an equal.

But Fenris knew it bothered his mage. His soft-hearted and ridiculous mage.

It was sad, how he had never told Karl his feelings. Fenris had never loved...at least as he couldn't remember if he had. It had always been duty – duty to his master, to Hawke, to the fog warriors. He had never loved...never allowed that feeling for himself.

Looking at Anders, Fenris knew he had finally allowed himself to have something – he had finally made a decision like a free man. And his decision was to be with this mage, to love this mage. It had taken months for him to accept that he could be with a mage and not be subjugated, not be a slave. Now he had to learn how to say the words – the words that meant so much to Anders.

It was a test, Fenris decided. This entire trip was a test to see if he'd fall back on his old rage – his old hatreds. Could he walk among such narrow-minded, blind people and ignore their distain or would he use it as fuel to push Anders away again.

His promise to his mage reared its head – he would never leave him alone again. Anders would never have to face this life alone. Would never have to struggle with Justice alone. Never again.

He could fall back on his self-hatred and rage or he could admit that he'd moved past it. That he had grown to be a free man. And if he admitted to having moved on, maybe he could finally say the words that backed up in his throat and clogged his lungs. Sat in his belly and churned.

Anders murmured softly and nuzzled closer, a small moue of sadness pulled at his lips – a dream turning nightmare. Fenris tightened his hold on his mage and brushed his lips over blond hair. “Hush mage, I have you. I will not let you go.”

The words settled around Anders and he sighed, relaxing. He murmured something back, something that Fenris almost didn't catch. But his ears twitched as his brain made sense of the mumbled syllables.

“Love you,” he had murmured. “Love you, Fen.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracking a wyvern - piles of shit, nug calls, frolicking...
> 
> Anders explains his healthy fear of the Dalish...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The World of Thedas Vol 2 says Wyverns are solitary hunters that don't like sharing space with other creatures...
> 
> Which totally explains why I was ambushed by groups of them in Inquisition...
> 
> I figured shoving a wyvern next to Lake Celestine wasn't actually too bad an idea. I made it solitary at least.

“Well...who knows anything about tracking animals?” Hawke looked around at her group and then out to the countryside. Small knots of guests, all kitted out for hunting in various states of armor, were letting loose dogs and mounting horses. Hawke's group stood in a small circle frowning a bit at the trees while fidgeting with their own weapons.

“This takes me back a bit,” Anders muttered, eying a particularly fine looking oak. “And if the trees come alive and start stomping, I'm leaving.”

“What?” Hawke glanced over at him, her mouth agape. “Trees...what?”

“Fucking Dalish,” was all he muttered, clutching his staff a little tighter. “Look, the first rule in hunting animals is to think like the animal. What do they hunt, where do they mate, what type of ground do they like to bed down on...what?”

“Healer, Grey Warden...tracker?” Hawke's eyes were dancing.

“Nathaniel Howe had to show me how to hunt for dinner so I wouldn't starve, ok? And it's not so different as hunting down talking darkspawn...and no, I will not tell you that story. Ever,” A shudder ran up Anders' back and settled in his hands, his staff jittering.

“The handsome blond is correct, and I happen to know about wyverns,” Tallis appeared next to Hawke and gave a beaming smile to Anders. “So nice to see somebody around that appreciates the fine art of the hunt.”

“Er...more like has been dragged on his fair share while in the Wardens. But I will defer to you, here.” Anders nodded at Tallis.

“Mm...really? Defer to me...I like the sound of that.” Tallis let her eyes linger on Anders' shoulders a moment before shaking her head. “Wyvern are solitary, they hunt alone, and they are terrifyingly strong. They also spit poison...anybody here know how to neutralize poison?”

The entire group turned eyes to Anders who sighed and raised his hand. “I can heal it.”

“Good. Wait...heal it?” Tallis tilted her head and finally took in the long, leather-wrapped staff. One end held a wicked blade, the other a round ball of crystal wrapped in gnarled wood and more leather.

It was his Warden staff – enchanted for both healing and his more martial spells. He had, reluctantly, packed his warden gear for the trip. Fenris had spent days informing him that tromping through the countryside in robes or a corset would be ill-advised and that his warden leathers would protect him better in a hunt.

So he stood with the group wearing the blue and grey of the wardens, staff gripped in his hands, and managed to look the most competent out of all of them. Fenris narrowed his eyes at Tallis and shifted, his armor creaking. “You will not bother Anders about his mage abilities.”

“A healer, got it. We're in luck!” Tallis said eyes twinkling. “Know any fun spells?”

“Mmm, does he ever,” Isabela purred, laughing when Hawke threw her a disgruntled look. “Sorry sweet thing. Sorry. Look, are we going to stand around all day and jabber or are we going to go find this wyvern? From what I understand, finding the wyvern is highly important.”

“It is,” Tallis agreed. “Not only because of the prize, but because it elevates our status. It'll allow us a measure of lee-way with the household staff. I have managed to find the entrance to the vaults, but I couldn't get in by myself. There's some method that requires at least two people. So we find a wyvern, kill it, gain the trust of the Duke, and then a couple of us are going to sneak in and nab the jewel while everybody celebrates out in the gardens.”

“Not the worst plan I've ever heard. Not the best...but not the worst,” Varric said, pulling Bianca from his back. “Then let's get to it. The less time I have to spend wandering around out here in the open, the better. And the sooner we get that jewel, the sooner I can get back to Kirkwall.”

“Can't believe I'm about to say this but...I'd rather be in Kirkwall than Orlais.” Anders scratched at the scruff on his chin and frowned.

“I am in agreement. We shall find this beast, slay it, and finish this job. It cannot be any more difficult than the dragon we fought at the Bone Pit.” Fenris nodded at Hawke. “Either of them.”

“Can we NOT talk about the dragon...either of them...and that's...this entire hunt is now doomed. The wyvern is going to be part darkspawn, part templar and will spit the Chant. Thank you,” Anders griped, quieting as Fenris wrapped a hand around his wrist.

“Right well...Tallis? Care to lead the way?” Hawke shook her head at the entire group and then smiled at the elf, nudging Isabela.

“Come on. I think we'd do best in the rocky sections nearer the lake. Better hunting,” Tallis pointed off in the distance, gave Hawke a teasing smile, and started out. The group, as one, shared a sigh and followed.

***

“Beautiful views, fresh air, a giant pile of shit...” Anders was scrunching up his nose. “This really is like being back in the Wardens. Any minute now...Dalish...”

“Is this the real reason why you give Merrill such a hard time?” Isabela was watching with some amusement as Hawke started rifling through the spore dotting the shores of Lake Celestine.

“Look, it's bad enough that she's a blood mage. But you know, what really scares me is that she's Dalish. We had a Dalish mage in the Wardens...Velanna. And when she wasn't calling the trees to life she was beating my face in with her staff; she was terrifying.” Anders glanced around as if to make sure Velanna hadn't heard him talking about her and had magically appeared. He wouldn't put it past the cranky warden – she had been able to travel the length of most battlefields using some Dalish Keeper magic that, no matter how often he asked, she refused to teach.

“It looks like they caught and ate some nugs...and a horse...and...a guest?” Hawke pulled a helmet out of the pile.

“This is not a treasure hunt,” Fenris groused. “And wash your hands...twice...”

“It's a really nice helmet, though. We could give it a good scrub...ok, ok, I'm dropping it.” Hawke held up grimy, poop-covered hands in defeat.

“Your insistence on collecting torn trousers and ripped tunics is beneath you, Hawke,” Fenris took a step back lest any of the odoriferous substance landed on him. “And your willingness to shove your hands in shit is...well...”

“You know, you'd think we'd be used to it with the amount of shit we step in in Kirkwall,” Anders piped up, returning to the discussion. “Only it's more metaphysical in nature. Less...actual crap.”

Varric snorted, “Don't know about that Blondie, I distinctly remember the smells from the Bone Pit. And the slaver caves. And the...”

“We get the picture, Varric. Thank you, “Anders muttered.

“Coming from somebody who works in a sewer...” Isabela started laughing, “You'd think you would be the one to go rifling through that giant pile.”

“My clinic may be in Darktown but that does not mean I spend my days tromping through sewers. Unless Hawke asks. Then I do...because I have a problem with saying no,” Anders scrunched up his nose and then glanced at Fenris.

Fenris simply smiled and shook his head, “Mage, your problems with saying no are why you get into so many messes.”

“Didn't say no to you,” Anders mumbled, blinking when Fenris wrapped himself around his back and squeezed. “Oh...well...”

“Are we having cuddle time? Because if so I want in on this,” Tallis perked up, glancing between Anders and Fenris. “Two handsome, strapping men...”

“So...nugs!” Hawke exclaimed brightly, waving poop-covered hands at the group. “Nugs.”

“I can make nug noises. Anybody else able to make nug noises?” Tallis glanced at the group. After a moment of silence, Isabela raised her hand and gave Hawke a sheepish grin.

“Dare I ask why you know how to squeak like a nug?” Hawke had been making her way down to the lake to wash her hands only to stop and stare at her lover.

“Well, there was this one time in a raid...” Isabela actually shuffled. “Needless to say, it's the last time I'll ever work with the Carta.”

Varric gave a snort and shook his head, “They are a bunch of nug-humpers.”

***

“So we have nug noises, a half-eaten horse, one helmet...and a general direction,” Hawke was prodding at the pile of meat and bones they had found on a rocky outcropping.

“The wyvern probably has a lair up there in the hills around the lake. It comes down to hunt and whatnot. Excellent hunting near the water,” Tallis pointed out.

“So we...what? Climb the hills till we find it?” Varric was sitting on a fallen log, face screwed up. “Because if so I'm staying here.”

“Oh no, we find a nice open area and lure it out,” Tallis grinned. “It'll be fun.”

“As fun as rifling through a giant pile of shit?” Anders muttered.

“Hey! It wasn't too bad. I mean, it was bad but not...that bad...” Hawke kicked at a tree. “Ok, it was bad.”

“You kept the helmet,” it was the fifth time Fenris had muttered those words. “The helmet found in a pile of shit.”

“It is a NICE helmet. I'm going to have it cleaned up...and then send it to Carver,” Hawke brightened at the thought. “He tends to be a shit head.”

Anders snorted, “Appropriate wear for the Deep Roads delver.”

“I'm just glad he's alive. Even if he is a warden now,” Hawke was staring at a clearing at the base of some cliffs. “I'm glad you were there to save him. That was...horrible...”

“While I am glad I saved him, sort of, can we not discuss the horrific Deep Roads expedition? Ever?” Anders groused.

“I second Blondie's suggestion. All in favor of forgetting that nug-brained scheme, say Yay.” Varric nodded.

“Yay...” Isabela shook her head, clearly remembering that entire horrific trip. “This is a much better trip. Even with the shit piles…”

Fenris gave a snort and Anders cackled a bit. Hawke sighed in defeat, “So...this clearing looks good.”

“I agree. Let's pile up the stuff in the center. Then Isabela, you and I are going to frolic around it. You make nug noises and I'll make mating wyvern noises.” Tallis started pushing the horse meat into the clearing.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” murmured Anders. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“Dalish?” Fenris asked, a grin crawling up his face. “We could summon a bunch of Dalish.”

Anders gave his lover a distinctly nauseous look while Varric snorted into his gloves. The snorting grew louder as Isabela and Tallis started frolicking – arms waving while squeaking and squealing and sort-of howling at the sky.

Anders opened his mouth to make a snarky comment when the sound of wings and a loud screech split the air. The group, as one, looked up towards the rocky hills and then scattered as a very large, very angry wyvern landed on top of the horse remains.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyvern Fights
> 
> Barmy Orlesian Barons...
> 
> Orlesian Insults...
> 
> Clearly, the entirety of Orlais is filled with morons.

Isabela rolled away and came up with her daggers in both hands, dodging the downward bite of the wyvern. The beast screamed and lunged again, teeth snapping at air as Isabela threw herself to the side. Tallis took the opportunity to launch herself at the back legs, trying to carve into the scaled armor that covered bony joints.

The rest of the group shook off the surprise and moved quickly into position. Hawke gestured and a wave of force slammed into the side of beast. Anders followed it up with an ice spell and then some quick healing on Isabela. Fenris shared a glance with Varric, gave a battle yell, and charged. Flinging himself into the air, he activated his brands and sliced down, drawing the attention of the wyvern. The snapping jaws lunged for him and then snapped shut, twin bolts having thudded into the meaty neck.

The glow of Fenris' tattoos kept the wyvern's attention, the bulk of the attacks centering on the weaving, dodging elf. Teeth snapped as the creature lunged, the long neck allowing it to strike fast and then withdraw. Powerful wings harried the rogues as they tried to get to the long folds of skin at the base of the neck.

A shard of ice hit the thing square in the jaw and burning eyes swung to look at Anders who inhaled and backpedaled, throwing up a shield as the monster gave a shrill call and charged forward. Tripping over a tree root, Anders fell back and thrust the blade of his staff upward, catching the wyvern on the jaw. Another shrill scream, this time in pain, as Fenris appeared next to the beast, sword already raised. A flash of his tattoos and the sword fell with devastating precision across the neck of the beast.

Another scream from the wyvern – ending in a pained gurgle as Fenris hit it again, the sword cleaving through scales, muscle, and bone to severe the head.

Panting, sword tip dropping towards the ground, Fenris turned to Anders, eyes wild with fear, “Anders!”

“I'm...I'm fine. It didn't even touch me. I'm fine...” Anders gave a tug, pulling the blade of his staff from the wyvern's jaw. The head fell, landing on him with a sickening squelching noise. “Covered in wyvern blood, but fine.”

Fenris shook his head and then let out a chuckle, the chuckle slowly turning into a laugh. His tattoos flared and the head was lifted from Anders with ease. “Hah...this was better than the dragon.”

“Yeah. Less flinging of the elf. About the same amount of screaming from the healer, though,” Anders slowly rolled to his hands and knees and pushed himself up. “Maker, that's a heavy bastard.”

“You ok there, Blondie?” Varric stepped forward, Bianca on his back. “That was some hit, Broody. Going to have to put that into a story.”

“I will allow it...this time,” Fenris slowly sheathed his sword and then wrapped an arm around Anders' waist, pulling his mage to him. “Come here, my love.”

The words ended in a kiss, blood and gore forgotten for the moment as both men clung to each other. The adrenaline from the fight surged and the kiss went from teasing to heated, hands tugging at clothing.

The sound of a throat clearing had Fenris pulling back, ears flickering with annoyance, “Yes?”

Hawke cleared her throat again, “I said I see people coming up the path. Um...and you are sort of...tearing at Anders' clothing.”

A glance down showed a clawed gauntlet fisted in the warden tabard, fabric straining. Fenris sighed and opened his hand, allowing the fabric to fall free. “Mage...”

“Mm...who's been hurt? Anybody?” Anders gave Hawke a cheeky grin, kissed Fenris quickly, and went to check on Isabela and Tallis. “Let me see that...Tallis...stop...stop it.”

Hawke and Fenris watched as Anders coaxed Tallis into sitting before slowly running his hand up her leg, healing magic swirling out and around both of them. They stood there for a minute, the quiet building, before Hawke turned to look at Fenris, “That’s the second time you’ve call him love.”

“He is,” the words were simply spoken. “I just have not been able to fully...it is hard, Hawke. Hard to say the entire phrase.”

“Why?” Hawke was watching Anders now fuss at Isabela, his hand gliding over an arm. “Why are the words so hard?”

“Fear, mostly. The belief that I am not worthy. I have never had this and saying the words...it makes it more real. It is real, though. I would do anything for him,” elven ears flickered again and green eyes turned to gaze up at Hawke. “Isabela feels the same for you.”

Hawke sighed, “She didn't come running to check on me.”

“You are pouting,” amusement danced in Fenris' eyes. “You were not pinned by the wyvern. If you had been...she would have rushed to you.”

Hawke shot him a baleful glare and then sighed, “Tallis is very...affectionate.”

“Mm, she is also lying about something.” Fenris murmured, “Though you seem to like your loves to carry little secrets.”

“Isabela apologized about the entire Book of Koslun deal. She didn't mean to start a war...” Hawke stopped. “Not that that sounds any better.”

Fenris snorted and then laid a hand on Hawke's arm. “You were there to point me in the correct direction when I made a grave error against Anders. Allow me to offer you the same help. Isabela is not used to trusting, not used to sharing. In a manner of speaking, she is learning to trust as much as I am. Hawke, sometimes it is not words you should be looking for but actions.”

Hawke blinked in surprise at Fenris and watched him cross the clearing to stand with Anders. The minute the mage stood, Fenris wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to a log to sit. Isabela looked up, saw Hawke, and gave a wave – her eyes shining with mischief. Hawke waved back and watched the smile soften into something she hadn't expected to see.

The sound of boots scuffling over the forest floor had Hawke turning to see a nobleman surrounded by a group of armed and armored men enter the clearing. The sight of the dead wyvern had the nobleman's face purpling with rage.

“This was to be my kill. Mine!” The words were shouted with a great deal of flourish. “Do you know who you have wronged?”

“No?” Hawke glanced back at Varric who shook his head and shrugged. “The wyvern didn't have a “reserved for” name pinned to it...”

“You insolent turnip!” Spittle flew from the man's mouth. “I am Baron Arlange!” The man drew himself up and struck a pose, obviously waiting for recognition to hit.

“Insolent turnip?” Anders had moved to stand next to Hawke. “Can turnips be insolent?”

“I honestly don't know,” Hawke said with shrug. “Now...a rutabaga...they can be pretty impertinent.”

Varric coughed to hide his laugh, “Baron Arlange, we didn't realize this wyvern had been spoken for. Sadly, we've already removed its head. Better luck next time?”

“I will not be mocked!” The man stomped his foot. “I paid the Duke good coin to win this year's event and now some...upstart radish… has stolen it from me.”

“Is he talking about us or making a salad? I’m honestly not sure...” Anders leaned on his staff, the blade sinking a bit into the packed dirt. “Look, Baron...we found this beast fair and square. We dug through the shit piles and gathered up the half-eaten horse...did the nug call...it's our kill.”

“I will not be maligned by a...a…dog lord...” The Baron sneered. “Prepare to meet your end.”

“Is it just me or is Orlais filled with overly-dramatic inbred morons?” Varric asked as he moved to stand with Hawke.

“I would have led with the dog lord and ended with the insolent turnip,” Anders said, watching with interest as several heavily armored men came running towards them. He pulled his staff free of the ground and gestured, a bolt of lightning flaring from the crystal at the top and striking the closest man in the chest.

The man dropped with a gurgle, but the group didn't stop running towards them. Anders was just about to summon more lightning when Fenris gave a yell and ran into the armored group, tattoos lit.

A minute later and Fenris was panting lightly and the men were down. The Baron gaped first at Fenris and then at Anders. “You...you...you...”

“Don't say it...don't say it...” Anders begged under his breath.

“FILTHY KNIFE-EAR!” The Baron screamed.

“Of course he said it. Because there isn't a lick of sense in this entire country,” moaned Hawke.

Fenris growled and started towards the Baron who, finally, realized he may have pushed his luck a bit far. He was scrambling backwards when the Duke stepped into the clearing, backed by several of his personal guard.

“What, exactly, is going on here?” The Duke asked, eyebrow hovering just over his mask. “Baron Arlange? Why does it appear that your men attempted to assault the Lady Hawke?”

“Duke! You know this kill should have been mine. But this...this...” The Baron sputtered. “I was robbed.”

“You tried to kill us! And called me a vegetable!” Hawke gestured at the bodies. “We just defended ourselves.”

“That man is an apostate!” The Baron pointed a shaky finger at Anders. “I demand the Chantry be notified!”

Fenris growled and Anders narrowed his eyes, but the Duke simply laughed. “He is a Warden, Baron. And therefore free to come and go as he pleases. I will not have the busybodies invading my home simply because you were too slow.”

“My Lady Hawke. This man has offered grievous offense against you and yours. What would you have me do with him?” The Duke nodded to his men who wrestled the Baron down to his knees. “It would be within your rights to ask for his life.”

“Ugh,” was Hawke's first response. “Look, we've embarrassed him enough. Or he embarrassed himself. Regardless, let him go. His men are dead because they followed a fool. No need to kill another man.”

The Duke bowed, “She offers clemency. Be advised, Baron, that I will not be so gentle with you should you attempt to start another fight.”

“I...understand,” the Baron gritted out. “I shall return to the Chateau. This has been a most trying day.”

The Duke turned his back on the cowed man, tilting his head and smiling. “You have slain the first wyvern and therefore won the hunt. Bring the head and we shall display it before the party. Congratulations, my lady,” The Duke offered Hawke a bow and then turned, his men following him from the clearing.

“I can't believe you spared his life,” Tallis whispered, awed. “I would have thought...”

“That I would what? Condemn him for being an idiot? I have enough blood on my hands from Kirkwall. No need to add more simply because a man doesn't have the sense the Maker gave him.” Hawke sighed and shook her head. “One trip. I'd like one trip that doesn't end in blood mages or slavers or...or...morons...”

Hawke drooped, her shoulders falling. Isabela glanced at Tallis and then slid an arm around her lover's shoulders. “Come on sweet thing. Let's get this nasty head back to the Chateau and then go clean up. We have a party to go to. That should be fun.”

“Oh Izzy. You and I both know the party will probably end in a blood bath somehow.” Hawke groused but allowed herself to be led to the path back to the Chateau.

“True, but at least we can drink fine wine and eat delicious food...” Isabela said.

Hawke gave a soft laugh. “Good point Izzy. That's a good point.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's ideas can be summed up as "great in theory but terrible in practice..."
> 
> Justice really dislikes Tallis
> 
> Anders to the rescue!

“Damn it,” Tallis was standing just behind Hawke and doing a fine impersonation of a lady’s maid – a slightly upset lady’s maid.

“What is it? Did you eat one of those little tarts? I warned you that they tasted like feet,” Hawke murmured. “Feet dipped in wyvern.”

“No, no I avoided the tarts. No. The problem is that the Duke has us locked out of the mansion. I know how to get down to the vault but…I need to get in to the mansion to get there,” Tallis reached out to straighten the neckline of Hawke's dress as she whispered “We need to separate and try to find a way in.”

“You think?” Hawke turned her head and found herself face to face with Tallis, who gave a wide smile. “Shit. Fine. You, Isabela and I will…what?”

“No, we should bring Anders.” Tallis whispered.

“Why?” Hawke cut her eyes over to the mage and took in his copper and black ensemble. He was garnering a small crowd, all standing back respectfully due to Fenris’ looming. “We could bring Varric…”

“No…if we get caught in the mansion it would be easier to pawn off you two having slipped away. You are the Lady of the hour and he is the darling of the event. You two can be forgiven much. And I am your lady’s maid. I’m there for propriety’s sake,” Tallis stepped back and gave Hawke a look.

“Fine…fine. Please go get him for me,” Hawke sighed, trying for a smile as Isabela sauntered up to her.

“What’s the matter?” Isabela wasted no time in cuddling up against Hawke, her eyes drifting to the lower neckline of Hawke’s dress. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look?”

“You did,” Hawke leaned against Isabela and sighed. “While you were lacing my corset.”

“It’s a beautiful corset on a beautiful woman,” Isabela squeezed Hawke, admiring the way her breasts pressed up against the cotton of the dress. “I like this dress. Not as much fabric.”

“Mm, not as many petticoats, either,” Hawke grinned over at her lover.

The gown in question was considerably plainer than the one worn last night. High-waisted with a narrow skirt in a pale mint green, Hawke had been assured by the Orlesian seamstress that it would be perfect for a garden party. The garden party prediction seemed to be correct – sneaking through a mansion? She wasn’t sure if the gown was up to that sort of activity.

“What is that elf up to?” Isabela murmured, more to herself.

“Anders, Tallis and I are going to try to get into the mansion. I need you to go with Varric and Fenris and try to find an alternate way in,” Hawke murmured back. “I know you aren’t happy about being split up, but please Izzy…for me. Please?”

Isabela gave a soft harrumph but whispered, “for you, sweet thing, anything.”

“Izzy…” Hawke suddenly grabbed the pirate’s hand, pulling her back into a shadowy corner by some potted topiary. “Trust me? It’s not Tallis that I want.”

“Oh sweet thing…if you think that I…” Isabela started, the flippant smile on her face slowly fading away as Hawke shook her head.

“I love you, Isabela. Not Tallis. I…you don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to move in. Just…just be there for me, ok? Please?” Hawke cupped Isabela’s cheek in one hand and gazed into dark eyes wide with surprise and…yes…the fear Fenris had mentioned. “I’ve been pushing and I shouldn’t have been. We do this on your terms or not at all.”

“My terms? You sure about that?” The words were teasing but the look on Isabela’s face was serious. “You’d do that for me?”

“You could have left me to deal with the Arishok, but you didn’t. You came back to me. No matter how much space you need, as long as you come back to me…” Hawke pressed her forehead to Isabela’s. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll get tired of saving everybody and we’ll run off to be pirates together.”

A throat cleared and Hawke looked up into Anders’ smiling face. “Hawke,” he whispered. “We should get this party started. Properly.”

Isabela snickered, “Show her the electricity trick, then. So she can use it on me later.”

Anders chuckled and reached forward, brushing a finger down Isabela’s arm. There was a soft pop and the smell of ozone, Isabela stiffening and then letting out a husky laugh. “Oh my…”

“Don’t you even tell Fen…or I’ll…I’ll…” Anders pondered what he could do as a threat, “Have Varric tell Corff to call in your tab.”

“You wouldn’t,” Isabela teased, pressing a soft kiss to Hawke’s cheek. “Be safe, sweet thing.”

“I’ll have Anders with me. Good luck with Fenris. Try not to kill anybody,” Hawke took Anders’ outstretched hand.

“No promises, sweet thing. Except that I’ll see you later. That, I do promise.” Isabela winked at Anders and sashayed away.

“That’s as close to an I love you as I’ve ever heard from her,” Anders’ murmur drifted down to a pleased Hawke.

“Want to go break into the Duke’s vault and steal all of his shinies?” Hawke asked, wicked delight in her voice.

“Sometimes, my dear Hawke, you have the best ideas,” Anders said on a laugh, leading them over to Tallis.

“I really do!” Hawke beamed.

***

“This was a horrible idea. Why did we go with my suggestion?” Hawke had asked that question at least ten times in the last ten minutes.

Anders glanced over at her and went back to tapping at the wall with his nails. Hawke glanced back at him and winced at his pale skin and wide, wild eyes.

Getting into the mansion had been a trial – a trial of tracking down a key and that one moment that Hawke was still trying to forget – where she had sweet talked that Lord Cyril into giving her the key in exchange for…well…some things were better left not thought about. With the key in hand, the group had sneaked in through a side door and had made it all the way to the vault…the well-locked and trapped vault.

A little bit of head-scratching followed by Anders grumbling about poncy Orlesian nobles and their stupidly complex pressure plate combination locks, and the vault had been opened. They had gotten two steps in before the room filled with chevaliers and the sneering Duke.

Which had led to their current predicament: sitting in a locked cell in the Duke’s not-quite-so-pleasant dungeon.

Anders let out a silent moan, blue splintering along his skin, and Hawke had to wonder how much longer they would be stuck in here – or if Justice would just kill her and Tallis.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tallis asked, nerves making her jitter.

“Anders?” Hawke stood, moving to kneel at the mage’s feet. “Anders, look at me.”

Eyes filled with fade-blue met hers and her heart sank. “WE ARE BEING UNJUSTLY HELD.”

“Ok, Justice then. Right. Look, it won’t be for very long. I’m sure Fenris is looking for you. Please don’t kill me,” Hawke begged slightly. “I’m sorry I got us captured.”

“THE BLAME LIES WITH THE ELF. SHE HAS LURED US HERE TO DO HER BIDDING. WE SHOULD BE IN KIRKWALL FIGHTING THE TEMPLARS, NOT HERE.” Justice growled.

“Ok…look…um. The blue mage? He’s…right.” Tallis slumped. “I wasn’t telling the whole truth. I did…do…need help with something. But I wasn’t sure if I came to you with the truth if you could or would help me.”

“Now would be a great time to come clean – before Justice decides you’re better off dead,” Hawke glanced back at the elf and frowned.

“I’m Ben-Hassrath. A Qunari…well…call me a Qunari infiltrator. The Duke has bartered with my old mentor to gain something valuable to the Qunari. Something dangerous. I am trying to get it back,” Tallis winced at the glare from Hawke.

“You do know that I killed your Arishok, yes? In single combat?” Hawke gawked at Tallis, backing up and sitting on Anders' lap to keep him from surging up. “No no no, Justice. We aren't attacking the elf.”

“SHE LIED!” the spirit roared. “LIED AND BEGUILED US WITH HER TOUCHES AND HER WHISPERS.”

“Er...yes, well. She did do that.” No sense in trying to smooth things over with Justice. He had hit right at the heart of the problem.

Tallis had the good graces to look chagrined. “It's not that you two aren't highly attractive and very interesting people. It's just that people that are seduced are easier to...manipulate. Unfortunately, neither of you really fell for that bate...why did you come with me?”

“Oh well...I'm always up for a little Orlesian hijinks. I'm Ferelden. They're Orlesians. I dislike them on principle. Plus, I was bored,” Hawke explained, wincing when she felt fingers dig into her hips.

“You were BORED?” Hawke was gratified to hear the words in Anders' voice. “BORED? Meredith is taking over the city, slavers are practically infesting the Wounded Coast, more and more blood mages keep cropping up...”

“Right. Bored. This was supposed to be fun. A little relaxation, some jewel heisting...wear pretty clothes. Not sit in a dank dungeon with a Qunari!” Hawke had turned and was poking Anders in the chest. “You can't tell me it hasn't been good for you and Fenris.”

“There were TEMPLARS!” Anders howled the last word, standing up and dumping Hawke on the ground. “I'm getting us out of here.”

“What?” Hawke gawked.

Tallis just tilted her head and watched as Anders fiddled with the lock, fingers sliding over the mechanism. “You really think you can get us out? I could pick it, you know.”

“Pft. I got locked up by a talking darkspawn once. So there we were...me, Oghren, Eavan and that blasted Dalish witch, Velanna...down in the Deep Roads. Velanna's sister had gone all barmy “I love talking darkspawn” on us. She left us the key but it BROKE in the lock. Of course it broke in the lock. Oghren had grabbed it and...well anyways...so I figured if I just...haha. Still got it.” There was a rattle, a screech of metal, and then the lock turned brittle white. Anders backed up, summoned a fireball, and let if fly towards the lock – which screamed once in protest and promptly fell off the door. “Works every time.”

“Why didn't you get out of the Circle dungeon by doing that?” Hawke asked as she pushed open the warped door of their cell.

“Fucking templars with their fucking magebane,” Anders muttered, “UNJUST” he muttered slightly louder.

“Back up, I'm still stuck on the talking darkspawn part,” Tallis said as she followed Hawke out of the cell. “They talk?”

“Only some of them. And I think we killed them all. Hard to say. Let's just...not think about it and go find Fenris,” Anders said, looking around the dungeon. “This place is something else.”

“I think I have a map...somewhere in a pocket. Hold on...” Tallis started patting at her leggings.

“You have pockets?” Hawke was staring at Tallis' ass.

“You can fit stuff in them?” Anders was looking suitably impressed.

“I mean, a piece of paper...come on...anything else and it ruins the lines. Ah-HAH! One map...let me just...get it open...hmm,” Tallis stared down at the paper and then around at the cells, turned the map once, grinned and pointed. “That way is out.”

The group gathered together, turned to face the right, and stopped short as Fenris, Varric, and Isabela came tearing around the corner.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovers are reunited...
> 
> Tallis explains what the real job entails...
> 
> Duke Prosper's Vault. Oh My!

“Anders!” Fenris barely stopped moving, slamming into Anders and wrapping himself around his mage. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

Staggering back, Anders flailed and went down, Fenris landing on him. “Oof…”

Tallis let out a chuckle, laughing harder as Hawke found herself scooped up in Isabela’s arms, the pirate squeezing her mage tightly.

“Anya…did that bastard touch you? I will rip out his eyes!” Isabela gave a huff and tugged Hawke into a kiss.

Varric ambled up to stand next to Tallis, lips twitching. “Tallis. How are you?”

“What? No hugs or kisses for me?” Tallis pouted, leaning on Varric’s shoulder and tilting her head to get a better view of Fenris and Anders. “Should we give them a few minutes?”

“If we don’t stop Broody now, Blondie will be out one robe. That elf has a clothing problem,” Varric chuckled. “Hey…Broody…let the poor man breathe.”

“Venhedis, you will not speak to me while I am making sure my mage is fine,” Fenris spat over his shoulder. There was a possessive growl and then Anders laughing as hands slid over the mage as if looking for injuries. “Did that…elf…touch you?”

“Tallis? No. We were caught and put in the dungeon. Then I got us out,” Anders squirmed, “Fen, that tickles!”

“You will not go off without me again. You will not break into mansions with strange elves,” Fenris ranted. “You could have been injured, killed, given to the templars…”

“Ok…shh…ok. I’m ok.” Anders soothed. “Fen, love, I’m fine. I didn’t enjoy sitting down here but I’m fine.”

Fenris’ sigh was mirrored by Isabela who seemed to be lecturing Hawke. Hawke gave a long-suffering grumble and glanced at Anders. “They’ve gone insane,” she muttered.

“Seems like normal Fenris behavior to me,” Anders said with a slight shrug.”

“So…is anybody going to get naked?” Tallis called out. “I’m just curious.”

Fenris gave a deeper growl and stood, advancing on Tallis with murder in his eyes. “Your actions nearly injured Anders.”

“I never said it would be easy…right Hawke?” Tallis called, her smile slowly dimming under a bland look. “I guess you’ll be telling them, then?”

“Mm…I won’t be. You will be. Isabela, let me up. Tallis has something she needs to share with the group.”

***

  
“So...Blondie got you all out of the cell?” Varric was looking impressed – impressed and patting at his pockets for a writing utensil. “Blondie did? Not the elf?”

“The Qunari,” spat Isabela.

“Ben-Hassrath,” growled Fenris.

“I did! I froze the lock and then cast a fireball at it. Works every time,” Anders was preening a bit and leaning on Varric. “Hey, you all have great timing.”

“We would have had better timing if somebody hadn't gotten lost,” groused Fenris.

Isabela snorted, “It's not my fault all of the rooms look the same down here. We're underground; you'd think Varric could have, I don't know, spoken to the rocks or something.”

“I may be a dwarf but I'm not a DWARF,” Varric explained for what appeared to be the umpteenth time. “Now that you all are out, I vote we grab our shit and leave.”

“Hold up. I still need to get back what the Duke stole…or was stolen and is being sold to the Duke,” Tallis said, pleading. “Please. Innocent people could die if I don't.”

“What is this, exactly? And don't lie or I'll let Justice have you,” Hawke warned. Anders gave a tense smile, eyes swirling with blue.

“Right. Fine. Right. It's a list, ok? Of names. Qunari sleeper agents. It's got their names, their families’ names, their neighbors...friends...you get the picture. The Orlesians get this? A lot of people who aren't Qunari will die just because they are on that list,” Tallis slumped. “I can't do this alone. I need help.”

“And that list is in here?” Hawke looked around. “In a vault?”

“No...I wish, no. The jewel heist was supposed to keep you occupied. You get the jewel, and I get into the mansion to stop my old mentor from giving the list to the Duke. He went Tal'Vashoth,” pain splintered across Tallis' face. “He left the Qun.”

The group went quiet at that, even Isabela. Exchanging looks, Hawke sighed. “Alright. We'll...help. I know, Izzy. I know. You hate the Qunari. But this would be wrong. Please, love? Please?” Hawke went and took Isabela's hands, eyes pleading.

“Oh fine. Fine,” Isabela sighed dramatically. “But only if we can loot the vault first.”

“Oh well...you're in luck. There's a back way into the vault from here. If you wish to take a brief look. I mean, I did promise you a jewel-heist...” Tallis started grinning. “Brief look. Then we really need to get moving. Salit should be here this evening.”

“Oh, I think we can loot and run. We've got plenty of practice,” Isabela said on a laugh. “Lots and lots of practice.”

***

“Why does the Duke have a collection of mage staffs?” Hawke was fingering one done in a dark heartwood topped with a brilliant blue stone. “Does he have a cabal of apostates we don't know about?”

“I'm more interested in this collection...” Isabela was crooning softly while stroking a silk-lined mahogany chest. Anders glanced into the chest and started choking. “Mm...all mine...yes they are.”

“That's...those are...what are they...gems? Wouldn't that hurt? Look how they're all identically shaped...” Anders was pointing and gibbering.

“Mm...I wonder if they're Duke Prosper shaped,” mused Isabela. “Kinky.”

“What are we talking about?” Varric ambled over to the chest and promptly dropped the dagger he had found. “Andraste's Nipples...”

The chest was filled with dildos...all cast from gold or silver and all covered in expensive, polished jewels. The group gathered around the chest and stared for a moment, words lost. After another moment of blinking, Isabela slammed the chest closed and smiled, “I found them. They're mine.”

“I would wash them...twice...” Fenris advised before returning to another chest. There was another moment of silence and then Fenris let out a choked laugh. “Mage...”

“Mm? Yes love?” Anders had picked up a staff made from ironwood. The wood flowed up into twisting branches carved to look like snakes. He let his magic play over the staff and hissed at the pulse of creation magic. “I want this...”

“Take it. Who'll miss it?” Hawke was fondling another staff, naked lust on her face. “Oh come to momma,” she murmured at the staff. “Oh you're so pretty...”

“Mage,” Fenris sighed. “Come here.”

“Oh...alright. Yes, Fen?” Anders stopped at the small chest Fenris was holding, tilted his head, and let out a snort. “Are those Tevinter in origin?”

“Mm...they are, yes,” Fenris said with a nod.

“Are you...” Anders glanced at Fenris who simply smiled. “Oh my...”

“What? What did you find?” Isabela nearly knocked Anders out of the way in her haste to look in the chest. “What is that?”

“A body slave collar...and matching...rings...which begs the question of what the Duke gets up to…not that I care,” Fenris' ears flushed pink and his eyes heated. “Mine,” he growled.

“The chest or the mage?” Tallis asked.

“Both,” the word was growled in a lower register. Anders flamed bright red. Isabela cackled.

“This man is a pervert,” Varric called. “There're paintings...paintings I can't even find words to describe up here. But there's also a small bag filled with uncut emeralds. Oh hello...you are mine,” Varric murmured quietly.

“Are you all almost done?” Tallis hissed. “I don't want to be caught with my pants down again.”

“That had better not have been how you were when you first caught,” Fenris murmured, his eyes still watching Anders flush. “But I am done, yes. We will be absconding with enough to make this trip worthwhile.”

“Mm...think we can drop this off in our rooms before we leave?” Isabela made a whining noise. “I don't want to drag the heavy dildos into battle.”

“Now Izzy, we've carried worse stuff around during battles. You just fling the bag down, attack, stuff more loot into the bag,” Varric said, waving a large sack he had found near some crates at Isabela.

“Oh fine. Fine. Give me one of those.” Isabela grabbed a bag and made a face. “Fine.”

Anders picked up a sack as well, opened it, and blinked. “Hold up…what’s this?”

“What’s what? It’s a sack. A burlap sack,” Varric was giving Anders a worried look. “You hit your head, Blondie?”

“Mm…” Anders closed his eyes and concentrated, a smile quirking up his lips. “It is a burlap sack. A magicked burlap sack…a burlap sack enchanted to weigh the same no matter how much you shove into it. I wonder where he got these…”

“How much can we fit in a sack?” Isabela was eying a few erotic statuettes on a table.

“Want to find out?” Anders waggled his eyebrows at Isabela, laughing when she promptly stuck her dildo-filled chest in the sack and started adding in the statuettes.

“Delightful. Do not bring home anything too…nauseating…” Fenris muttered, sighing as Anders picked up a statuette of two men entwined in an amorous embrace and shoved it in the sack. Oh well, he thought, they could put all of the truly dirty stuff in their bedroom…


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tal-vasoth, Chevaliers, Duke Prosper, and a trained Wyvern...
> 
> The final fight!

“Just how many tal-vashoth are we going to have to kill today? Because, I mean, I don’t mind killing them all I just like to have a general idea,” Hawke panted, rubbing at a stitch in her side.

“Well, just the ones left in front of us – and Salit, my old mentor, who is pretty formidable,” Tallis responded, pointing at a group of people up ahead.

The group had gathered in the same area that the wyvern had been fought, only up on one of the craggy hills overlooking Lake Celestine. The view was spectacular – and allowed for the Duke to posture about with what looked like a tamed wyvern.

Stopping behind one of the boulders that littered the area, Hawke blinked at the wyvern wearing a saddle and glanced at Tallis, ”You never said anything about wyvern mounts.”

“I want one,” Isabela hissed. “Wow.”

“Izzy, I love you – but we are not bringing one of them home,” Hawke whispered back, earning a slight pout. “Alright, is Salit here?”

“Yeah, he’s the big one with the red face paint. No, the OTHER big one with the red face paint – with the scroll,” Tallis pointed.

“Got it, let’s get this handled before anything else happens,” Hawke gripped her new staff and nodded. Tallis glanced at Hawke and started to work her way around the open area, keeping to the shadows. Varric moved counter Tallis, finding a spot behind another boulder that gave him a clear line-of-sight on the Duke. Hawke, Anders, Isabela, and Fenris shared a look. No words were needed – they had fought enough battles together to know exactly how this would go.

“I have brought you a great gift, Duke Prosper,” the giant Qunari was saying. “A weapon.”

The Duke turned to a bodyguard and tilted his head, watching as the armored man walked over to Salit to accept the scroll. Unrolling it, the man scratched at his chin, a look of surprise sliding over his face. “It’s a list of names, Your Grace,” he called back.

“A list of names? That’s your weapon?” The Duke sounded aggravated. “You promised me something to break the Qunari.”

“And I delivered. Knowledge is the weapon I bring,” Salit gestured at the scroll as if that explained everything.

“Seems to me the Duke doesn’t quite know what he has there,” Hawke slid out from behind the boulder and posed, hand on her staff.

“And you do?” Salit glanced back at her. “How?”

There was a pained gasp and a puff of smoke and then Tallis tumbled away from the crumpling bodyguard. In her hand was the scroll.

“Tallis,” Salit sighed. “I told you that if you interfered you would die.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually do this, Salit. What about all of the innocents? What about the Qun? What about all that you taught me?” Tallis shook her head and shoved the scroll into her bodice. “I believed in you, in the Qun. And then you go and shove a knife in my back…in every Qunari’s back!”

“You do not understand and it is not my place to teach you any longer,” Salit reached for the over-sized axe hanging from his back. “You will return that scroll…”

He didn’t get to finish the statement as the Duke gave a loud “Pah” and threw a viscous liquid at the Qunari. “I tire of this. Kill him.”

Salit had a moment to register the wyvern and then the beast was on him, powerful jaws sinking into the Qunari’s neck. There was a gurgle and then blood flying as Salit’s throat was ripped out. The wyvern gave a scream of victory.

“Kill them all,” The Duke yelled, pulling a sword from his back and moving to his mount.

“Oh goodie – one homicidal Duke, angry tal-vashoth, a bunch of Orlesian guards…and a wyvern,” Anders groused.

“I like to think of it as a target-rich environment,” called Varric, a bolt singing through the air to bite into one chevalier.

“Mm…I like how he thinks. Besides, we have to kill the blasted man to keep the loot,” Isabela laughed as she vaulted over the boulder and into the knot of tal-vashoth, her dagger catching the light as she parried an attack and struck out, catching one across the chest.

Fenris glanced at Anders, “Keep away from the wyvern,” he advised and then flared his tattoos, streaking into combat.

Anders and Hawke shared a look, shrugged, and then started casting – he a lightning storm and she fireballs.

***

The fight was vicious, the Tal-vashoth and chevaliers attacked with a vengeance while the Duke directed his wyvern to lash out at anybody caught too close to him. Anders gave up on offensive spells and switched over to healing, casting rejuvenation spells as fast as he cast healing spells. Hawke had moved closer to the thick of the fight, her fireballs and ice spells combining with force magic to drive wedges into the knots of combatants and pushing the chevaliers closer to the edge of the cliff or into rocks.

Isabela and Tallis swirled through the tal-vashoth – two bladed whirlwinds slicing up the horned men. Varric harried with chevaliers with well-placed bolts, keeping them from getting to close to Hawke. And Fenris…Fenris weaved through the fighters and worked to carve the wyvern into tiny pieces.

The tal-vashoth fell to the rogues' attacks. The chevaliers found themselves outmatched by a mage and Bianca. The group took a second to breathe, watching Fenris dodge another attack by the wyvern, when the Duke gave an angry yell and threw a vial...

That hit Anders square in the chest.

Viscous, smelly fluid burst from the vial and soaked into Anders' robes. He had one second to wrinkle his nose and then the wyvern was headed straight for him. Fenris screamed as Anders blinked in terror, the jaws of the wyvern opening impossibly wide – and then he threw himself to the side, dodging the downward bite. Rolling, he gained his feet, gave one panicked look at the Duke, and took off.

Anders let out a hysterical giggle as he blew past the wyvern. Running, it seemed, was something he was destined to do life – something he was very good at doing. It was a bit like dodging templars. The vial of smelly liquid replaced his phylactery and the roar of the wyvern replaced the clanking cursing of the templars. A quick glanced showed the wyvern gaining and Anders churned his legs faster, cutting a sharp corner that had the wyvern reaching out to bite at him – and missing by three feathers.

Fenris watched the progress of his lover, the rather frantic pace set by the mage and the equally frantic snapping done by the beast. It was clear that Anders' plan was to run in a giant loop and hope the wyvern either ran out of steam or lost interest. It wasn't a great plan, but it was one Fenris could work with.

Anders had reached the edge of the cliffs and was running parallel to the drop, the wyvern right at his ankles, when Fenris attacked. Tattoos flaring, the elf flew across the open ground and slammed into the shoulder of the wyvern, arm ghosting as he clung to the beast. He reached into the chest and flailed, wincing as the wyvern reached around to bite at him and getting a mouthful of spiky armor instead of elf-flesh.

It seemed like an eternity, but finally Fenris' hand closed around the rapidly pumping heart of the wyvern and he threw himself back, tearing at the beast's innards. Death was instantaneous, the wyvern skidding, wobbling limply, and suddenly collapsing sideways over the cliff. The Duke let out a panicked scream and tried to climb over his mount, his hands flailing and catching the edge of the rock.

Hanging by one hand, the Duke gazed up at Anders and Fenris, his eyes burning with hatred. He opened his mouth and said what was, quite possibly, the worst words that could be uttered at that moment, “You fucking knife-ear! Help me up right now!”

Fenris growled and stomped, hard, on the Duke's fingers. There was a long scream that ended suddenly in a wet splat.

Silence reigned, the wind picking up to ruffle hair and cool sweaty faces. Gazing down at the bloody spot, Anders rubbed a hand over his chin. “He was a dick,” he said finally.

“An ass,” Fenris agreed.

“Absolutely the best party I've ever been to,” Hawke piped up.

“I can't believe he had a chest filled with jeweled dildos. And they're all mine!” Isabela crowed.

“So...are we going to go pack and leave or what? I mean, is anybody really going to notice he's gone?” Varric had moved over to stand with Hawke. “And does this mean we have to get back on a boat?”

“Sorry Varric, fastest way home,” Hawke shot Varric an apologetic smile.

Tallis laid a hand on Hawke's shoulder and squeezed, “Thank you. I didn't expect you to actually help me once you found out that I was a Qunari. But you did. You helped and now people will be safe because of you.”

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry I had to kill your Arishok,” Hawke turned her apologetic smile to Tallis. “He wasn't a bad man, just misguided.”

“The Arishok placed himself in that position when he opted to recover the Book of Koslun by attacking Kirkwall. The Qunari do not see your victory as a bad thing. You won through strength. You won't be bothered by the Qunari again,” Tallis smiled. “Oh! Before I forget...here. This belongs to you.”

A fist-sized ruby in the shape of heart dangled from a thick golden chain. The light caught the blood-red stone as it spun. “The Heart of the Many?” Hawke asked.

“It's yours. You earned it,” Tallis ducked her head. “And now, unless there's any reason for me to stay, I should leave.”

“You could come back with us...” Hawke started.

“Yeah. Just what we need in our group. A Qunari sympathizer,” Isabela muttered.

Tallis laughed, “Sorry Hawke. I have my job and you have yours. It was...good...to have met you. Thank you.”

Another laugh, a shake of her head, and Tallis turned and walked off. The group watched her vault over a boulder and skip down the trail. The Heart of the Many spun from Hawke's hand. Looking down at the sparkling gem, she glanced over at Isabela and grinned, “Want to wear it for me tonight? Just the ruby?”

“Oh sweet thing, you have the best ideas!” Isabela purred, cuddling up against her lover.

“I do! I really do!” Hawke exclaimed, ignoring the groaning from the men as she kissed Isabela. “Come you guys, let's go get our stuff and go home. I rather miss Kirkwall.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending...for this story...
> 
> But not for THE story

**Epilogue**

  
_Kirkwall_

  
The clinic had finally quieted, the bustle and noise giving way to dirty sheets, empty vials, and puddles that needed to be mopped. Anders sat slumped on a stool, head resting on one of the tables – this one filled with empty vials and some spilled poultice. Quiet snoring issued from him, the only sound in the entire room.

The group had been back in Kirkwall for a week, and in that week Anders had spent every waking second down in the clinic. The Bone Pit had had a cave-in, some sort of plague had hit Darktown, almost every pregnant woman in the Alienage had gone into labor at the same time. The mage showed up to his clinic just as the sun was hitting the windows in Hightown and was dragged home long after dark had fallen, Fenris sighing deeply and muttering about how he didn't need to kill himself.

The trip to Orlais seemed like it had happened years ago, not just last week. Justice pushed at Anders' mind – the time gone bemoaned by the spirit as a waste. From the moment the mage stepped into his clinic until Fenris showed up, Justice drove Anders to work hard. No breaks, no rest...just steady healing and work on the manifesto.

It appeared that the Knight-Commander had used her Champion-Free time wisely – instituting even more stringent rules in the Gallows and harassing the nobles at every turn. The group had returned to a Kirkwall balanced on the knife-edge of strife once again and the strain was driving Justice into a frenzy.

A hand shaking his shoulder woke Anders, his honey-brown eyes blinking up into deep green. “Love, it is time to wake.”

“I...I'm sorry Fenris. I...” Anders groggily looked around his clinic, frowning slightly. “Cannot remember what I was doing.”

“Justice?” the question was gentle.

“He is so upset,” Anders said on a sigh. “Meredith...”

“Come, love. Let us go get some dinner. It is Wicked Grace night,” Fenris helped Anders to his feet.

“You say that more now,” Anders tried to straighten his robe, sighing at the small stains smudging the hem.

Ear pinking, Fenris shuffled and peeked up at Anders through his lashes, “It is easier to say.”

“Is it?” pleasure filled the words. “Really?”

“It is worth saying to you,” Fenris added. “Come, we shall eat at the Hanged Man. You are in no condition to cook tonight.”

“Oh...alright. One night of mystery stew won't kill us,” Anders pondered that. “Might make us wish we were dead, though.”

Fenris barked a laugh and entwined his fingers with Anders', leading his mage from the clinic.

***

“So I was passing by the Blooming Rose today,” Hawke was gesturing with one hand, her mug of ale sloshing dangerously. “And this Antivan man approached me.”

“Sweet thing, what have I told you about talking to the men by the Blooming Rose?” Isabela leaned forward, eyes heating with something like jealousy.

For a moment, the thread of conversation was lost as Hawke drew Isabela into a kiss, murmuring against the pirate's lips something that had them curling up into a satisfied smile. Settling back, Hawke took a drink of her ale, stuck her tongue out as she thought, and then beamed, “Ah...right! I was passing by the Blooming Rose when I was approached by an Antivan man. Said he was a nobleman...of some sort. I wasn't paying too much attention. You know how it is “You're the Champion? Can you go save my ferret?” Always the same...”

Varric snorted as he shuffled the cards, “Have we rescued any ferrets?”

“I don't remember any fierce ferret feats,” Fenris deadpanned.

The group looked at the elf who responded by taking a deep drink of his wine. Anders gave an amused huff that turned into a chuckle.

“Was I not invited to the ferret hunt?” The question had Merrill glancing at Hawke in concern. “I mean, are there a lot of missing ferrets in Kirkwall? I like ferrets, even when they bite my toes...” the words drifted off as the little elf took a drink of her ale.

The room quieted, everybody contemplating how the conversation went from Antivan nobility to ferret hunting. Hawke opened her mouth and closed it again, clearly worried that she would find herself back in the ferret discussion again.

“So...Antivan nobleman?” Aveline leaned forward, eyebrows slightly raised. “Go on.”

“Ah...right. Right! He said there was some elven assassin loose near Kirkwall. But this is the part that really caught my attention...the assassin was last seen out where the Dalish camp used to be,” Hawke nodded and took a drink. “Offered me gold to go kill him.”

“Elven assassin,” Varric rubbed his chin. “Why would he hide up on Sundermount? Why so far from the city? Something doesn't add up.”

“Like ferrets?” Merrill asked, her voice teasing but her eyes sad.

“Ferrets never add up. Because they steal your shiny little sovereigns, yes.” Varric nodded at Merrill, his hand snaking out to pat at the morose little elf.

“I know we just got back but...this is too good to pass up. I mean, an elven assassin. Wanted by some Antivan asshole?” Hawke tapped on the table.

Isabela was drawing on the table with some spilt ale, “An elven assassin...I wonder...” she looked up at caught Anders' eyes. “Wanted by an Antivan.”

“Maker...” Anders exhaled, sitting up straight. “You don't think?”

“Your mind going where my mind is going?” Isabela leaned forward.

“Could there be two elven assassins wanted by Antivans?” Anders had leaned back in his chair. “That...could make my life a little more...interesting...”

Isabela let out a loud laugh, “If it's who I think it is, everybody is going to find life more interesting. We may need to lock up Kitten.”

“Not what I mean, Izzy. He's...close friends with somebody who...well...” Anders reached for his ale and took a deep swallow. “We should check this out Hawke.”

“Anders...make sense. Do you and Isabela know who this elf is?” There was an edge of jealousy to Fenris' question.

“I don't know. Perhaps. If I'm right...” Anders met Isabela's eyes and grimaced. “If I'm right, Maker...we can't kill him.”

“Mm...right you are, handsome.” Isabela leaned back in her chair. “So...when do we want to go?”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” Hawke glanced around the table. “You know how I hate to get up early.”

“We'll make a trip of it, then. Pack camping gear. Last good trip before fall decides to get too cold,” Varric said with a nod.

Fenris was staring at Anders, noting the nervous twisting of fingers. “Love?”

“I'm alright, Fenris. Just thinking about the past,” Anders turned a smile to Fenris. “I swear, I will explain this to you.”

Fenris just nodded, eyes watching as long fingers rubbed over his mage's chest...over the tattoo that curled under one scarred breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this ends on a bit of a cliff-hanger. Have no fear, I am already working on the next installment!


End file.
